November 16th
by Spookykins
Summary: Just as Chris was daring to think his birthday wasn't as cursed as he previously believed, he turned 23. Joy. MOVED TO A NEW HOME AT PESSIMYSTIC
1. Intuition

Disclaimer: In the words of lolcat. Do Not Want! ...to be sued. So. Don't. Please?

**Chapter One: Intuition**

**November 16th, 2013. 8:00**

Burying the warding crystals around the school had seemed like a good idea at the time. The sisters had been spoiled by the complete safety of Magic School and missed the security when they'd transferred the boys to a mortal school. So what could they do? Pre-enchanted protective crystals, and good ones too. So powerful that any form of evil couldn't get within sixty paces of the building.

They sisters congratulated themselves on their own brilliance and allowed themselves to relax. Then some Warlock got it into his head to switch the ward's polarity, keeping anything good from getting in... or out, as the situation happened to be.

Now, as he wedged himself under Principal Yoder's desk, staring dully at a inspirational poster clearly labeled "Determination", nine-year-old Christopher Halliwell couldn't help but develop a quick hate for magical stones of any kind. Scrying? Never again. He was already thinking of horrible places to orb the warding crystals just as soon as he got out... if he got out.

He supposed he should just be glad that the ward hadn't stopped any of the mortals from getting out. He just wished Wyatt was in there with him. He imagined this scenario going drastically more in his favor then.

"...Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday to yoou..."

The voice echoed down the empty hallways and Chris covered his ears stubbornly. It was the demon. He didn't know how the thing had found out it was his birthday, but he'd been singing it ever since, and off-key to boot.

"Happy biiiiirthday dear Wit-chyyy..." The demon's voice reached a particularly sharp grating note just as he poked his alarmingly purple face into the room.

Chris gulped down his fear and froze, trying not to rattle the cheap imitation plywood desk. He leaned, ever so slightly, peering out a small gap in the siding, attempting to get a good look at what he'd been dealing with all night.

The demon was oddly proportioned and disturbingly purple. The way his face was arranged left him looking perpetually happy, his mouth cutting a line literally from ear to ear, thick with needle teeth. Sharp, bone white horns grew out from its temples and curled around to the back of its head again in the back.

It was a regular nightmare under the bed, everything a kid should be scared of. Despite prior experience, Chris shouldn't be any exception. He'd never had to face one of these things solo before, especially not for extended periods of time.

As the demon's feet squished grotesquely against the tile, Chris realized something. He was inexperienced, nearly powerless, and all alone. He should be terrified.

He should be... but he wasn't. He just felt utterly pissed off.

It was the familiarity, Chris pinpointed. Hovering at the back of his mind like a tune you couldn't put a name to. He'd felt the sensation before. Wyatt called it his "Intuition" and experience had taught the both of them not to question it.

Chris peeked out again, getting a letterbox view of the thing's legs, backwards hinged and meaty. A large, yellow scar traced down the back of the thing's leg. It was an old wound, expertly placed to cut all three of the tendons along the multi-jointed leg.

Chris had to stop himself from audibly gasping as the pinprick of light that was his Intuition brightened and expanded.

…_."You sent me into a trap, Dax. That's a hell of a big problem. I don't have time to deal with this. I'm going ask nicely again, and you're going to answer me truthfully if you feel like walking again..."..._

He _knew_ this demon...

Not just in a general way, he knew his powers, his preferred prey, he knew where he hung out, who his allies were... he could even recall his favorite alcoholic beverage, whatever the heck a Mojito was.

More importantly, he knew how to vanquish him.

"Birthday boy!" The demon cheerfully crooned, leaning dangerously close to the desk, "You have to come out so I can use you as bait! Doesn't that sound nice?"

In a rush of confidence, Chris pulled himself from behind the desk, finding himself close enough to the demon's face to count the teeth in his smile. He smiled right back, displaying his own canines in a smile no nine year old should be capable of.

"Hey Dax. How's the leg?"

He had a moment to see the closest approximation of shock on a Demon's face before he grabbed a stapler off the desk and planted the business end in the demon's nose. He didn't wait to hear the thing howl in annoyance and orbed down the hallway, breaking into a run as soon as his feet hit the cheap tiling, careening down the hallway and orbing through a locked door.

He heard the Dax hit the door behind him but didn't stop. He used the time to scramble to the back of the room and into the janitor's closet, pulling open toolboxes and hoping that everything in here was just as old as the rest of the school.

The Dax crashed through the door, behind the door nearly in half.

"_**You.**_" The demon hissed as soon as it caught up with him, murder in its black eyes. "It is not possible."

Chris ignored the comments, not in any mood to decode the ramblings of an insane demon and clawed open the hatch on the last box he found, grinning.

The Dax snapped its teeth, "It matters not. You are smaller now. Easier to kill."

How does one kill a Dax? Iron.

"Wrench!" Chris commanded, throwing his hands up in the direction of the demon, orbing one of the old rusted tools out of the box. The orbs traced a light into the demon's chest and solidified, making a horrible squelching sound as it did.

The Dax had barely a second to realize what happened before it burst into flames and disintegrated, taking the wards with it.

"So long, Dax." Chris said, all of a sudden tired.

He let out a breath and sunk down to the floor. It only took a moment for the room to brighten with blue and white orbs not his own depositing three angry looking mothers into the room. It took them a moment to realize that they were standing in the demon's ashes before they turned to look at him.

Chris just shrugged and closed his eyes.

"Birthdays suck."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**November 16th, 2027. 6:00 AM.**

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell didn't particularly like torturing his brother. The fact that he did it so often had less to do with him actually wanting to drive the younger Witchlighter to distraction and more with the fact that Chris desperately needed to be taught a lesson. He was sure his brother could appreciate that on some level and, knowing that, he hoped Chris would one day forgive him.

Ever so quietly, he snuck up on the sleeping prey--er, brother. He was stretched out on the couch per usual, having passed out there with some ridiculously complicated looking book opened on his stomach. Wyatt leaned over the back of the couch, getting as close as he dared and then, just as the moment was right, he screamed.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

... and immediately staggered back as a blunt force to his solar plexus sent all of the air rushing out of his lungs. A lifetime of training being the only thing to keep him standing. The Twice-Blessed took a moment to wheeze, drawing a hasty breath before he looked back over at the couch.

All he could see over the top of the couch was his brother's hand, still poised from the telekinetic attack. Chris drug himself up, eying his brother flatly.

"Wyatt..." He glowered, looking positively murderous, "I swear to god, if you weren't my brother..."

Wyatt grinned in spite of it, flicking a his hand behind his back subtly. Suddenly the whole glare-that-could-kill thing seemed a whole lot less threatening as a pink birthday hat orbed on the top of his brother's head.

"Good thing I'm your brother then, right? Otherwise I'd be drawn, quartered, hanging off a flagpole, blah, blah. Great hat by the way." Wyatt gave a brilliant display of teeth before ducking down and out of Chris's immediate range. The hat hit him square in the face anyway. Damn telekinesis.

Chris rolled his eyes, watching his brother try to quickly escape into the apartments small kitchen. He eyed the book in his lap briefly, trying to decide if it would be too childish to hit him with that as well. He flipped the book over, holding the page. 'A Brief Summary of Quantum Mechanics and the Relationship of Matter.'

He snorted lightly. Yeah, way too smart of a book to waste on Wyatt. Plus, somewhere along the line, he had gotten the reputation of being the most mature of the next generation of Halliwells and he didn't feel like spoiling that now.

He caught the edges of a few blue orbs and reached up in time to keep the party hat from rematerializing onto his head.

Wyatt, apparently, had no such hangups.

Chris held it out in front of him like it was a vat of demon spleens, noting from the corner of his eye that Wyatt had peeked around into the room just to see the reaction.

"Come on!" He called, "You can't really still think your birthday is evil!"

"Sure I can," Chris answered flatly before happily orbing the hat into the city garbage dump and attempting to go about his day. He rolled off the couch, pulling at his shirt as he went, realizing he'd fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes... again. His mother would not approve.

"Besides," He dropped the edges of his shirt with a shrug, "I don't really think it's _evil._"

Wyatt perked up, "Really?"

"It's not evil, it's just cursed. Difference."

"Oh, for the love of... _Chris_!"

The younger Halliwell ignored him and crossed the small living room to his bedroom closing the door behind him as an answer.

"Yeah, that's mature." Wyatt's muffled voice added glumly, making Chris smile in spite of himself. Wyatt was right, he did somewhat understand, and _perhaps_ on a _really_ good day, appreciate the gesture, but there wasn't anything to be done for it. He'd accepted a long time ago that his birthdays just went bad. He had no idea why his family had such a hard time doing the same.

No doubt Wyatt was in the other room calling reinforcements. Chris knew the routine well and like every year before this, he'd just have to suffer through it.

A wave of drowsiness washed over him abruptly as his bed came into view. The piece of furniture was practically begging him to catch up on the sleep he'd missed in the past week. He sighed and bypassed the idea, heading to get ready for the day. His family was bound and determined to drag him out into the world today, show him that it was possible to have a nice, catastrophe free birthday, hell or high water.

...Well, come to think of it hell _and_ high water had already happened already. He'd have to think of a better metaphor.

Grudgingly, he moved over to his closet and pulled out some clothes at random, knowing Wyatt would only give him a few minutes before he orbed the door off its hinges. No way was Wyatt letting him off as easy as a party hat and a wakeup call. He had other things planned...

No sooner had he tugged a fresh shirt over his head when one of those plans reared its ugly head.

"Wyatt..." Chris called, magicking his door open with a glare.

The blond man peered around the door frame, smiling, "Yes?"

"Why is my phone singing Happy Birthday?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Piper Halliwell hung up the phone with an inwardly satisfied smile, not disturbed in the slightest when Chris didn't pick it up. Knowing him, he'd probably orbed it out the window again.

Strictly speaking, the family didn't need cell phones anyway. With so much whitelighter blood in the mix they practically had a network going all of their own. The only thing that kept the little contraptions around was the fact that they were all trying so hard to fit into the mortal world. Yelling at the skies to communicate tended to make one look a bit crazy.

"Oo, Waffles," Leo leaned around his wife, grabbing the plates of food to set on the table. Piper squinted at him and brandished a finger.

"Don't touch those until the boys get here." She warned in her, 'I-mean-it-buster' voice.

Leo chuckled, "You mean Wyatt's actually trying to drag him out of the house?"

"Drag being the word," Piper rolled her eyes and and tipped her head back, shouting at the ceiling, "Chris, Wyatt. Stop fighting and come get breakfast!"

Piper tried not to look too pleased with herself as a blue glow obediently filled the kitchen, coalescing into her two eldest. Chris knocked his elbow into Wyatt's side bitterly, forcing the other to release the choke-hold that had brought him here.

"Hello boys," Piper smiled widely and stood on her toes to give each of them a kiss on the cheek, "Happy birthday sweetie."

Chris mostly hid his wince and bit off a thanks before trying to distract the issue by helping set the table. As concentrated he was at that task, he didn't miss the nudge and look Wyatt gave their parents, pointing at him and swirling a finger around his ear in the universal sign for Cuckoos Magoos.

Piper swatted Wyatt before turning to look at Chris, "Still? Really?" Piper sighed forcefully and leaned around her eldest, "Christopher, there's nothing to be worried about, really."

"If you say so..." Chris said noncommittally, pointedly not looking at them.

"Your mother's right," Leo chipped in, "Nothing has happened in _years._"

Chris was infinitely happy that his back was turned as he'd never been able to hide his guilt. He'd been convinced for years that Piper has some kind of scary witch sixth sense for lying. He was a fantastic liar normally but he could very rarely slip something past her.

He hoped this was one of those times. After all, technically he hadn't lied about the last three years... he'd just... omitted... a lot.

He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw that she'd paused in setting the table, eyes narrowed, head titled slightly to the side. Oh yeah, she was catching on.

"Brothers dearest!"

Chris let out his breath. Saved by the sister.

Melinda Halliwell resplendent in purple pajamas and mussed hair swept into the room like a queen in her very own castle. Of course that's how she walked _everywhere_. She flashed a smile at them and jumped up on her tiptoes to peck Wyatt on the cheek.

He waited patiently until she was on solid footing before mussing up her light brown hair even more. "Are there any ex-boyfriends I have to beat up today?"

"Meh," Melinda made a show of considering, "Try back next week, we'll see how this one lasts." She turned to Chris and gave him a once-over, eyebrow crooking up immediately.

"Oho! _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the couch this morning," Mel sidled up next to him, bumping him conspiratorially with her elbow, the height difference meaning she got him right in the pressure point in his side. Chris wonder, again, why his siblings liked to beat him up so often. It was even more infuriating with Mel because he'd never be able to hit her back.

Of course, Mel knew this and used it to her full advantage, conniving person that she was.

"Oo! Dad, look! Waffles!" Thankfully, she was also easily distracted.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**8:00**

"So," Melinda asked innocently, swirling her pen around in her fingers, "How's it feel to be 23 and independent? Good? Bad? Awesome?"

Chris eyed his little sister like one would look at a lion cub. Sure, it seemed cute and innocent, but it's idea of playing was going for the jugular. Beware all who tread here...

He turned back to doing the breakfast dishes, pretending like he was considering the question, "Hm, it feels exactly like being 22 and independent but one day older. Go figure."

Mel tapped at the textbook in her lap irritably, "Sure seems nice to be out there in the world..._outside of the Manor..._" She leaned in her chair to emphasize the words.

"I'm not helping you convince them to let you move out."

The younger Halliwell crumpled in her seat, preparing an epic pout, "Oh come on!" She practically pounced out of the kitchen chair holding her French textbook in front of her like a shield. "Why are you so mean to me?"

Chris just gave her a look that was purely Piper before dropping the last dish into the drying rack.

Mel changed tactics and latched onto his arm, widening her green eyes and batting her eyelashes like a proper damsel, "Please-oh-please! Pretty please with sugar plums and hot fudge and marshmallows--."

"No."

"Why?" She huffed, letting him go, "You and Wyatt got to move out _years_ ago. I'm 19 Chris, they're stifling me! I need to be out there where I can actually _live_."

Chris turned the water off and sighed. He knew how she felt. In some ways she was more grown up than any of them. She balanced her witch and mortal duties easily, had been in college a year, had a decent savings, and knew exactly what she was doing with her life. That last one alone topped him and Wyatt in a heartbeat. It was a bit of cruelty to keep her locked up in her childhood room, staring at the severely outdated pink teddy bear runners on her walls.

"We offered to let you move in with us last year." He said halfheartedly. She only rolled her eyes in return.

"That'd be even worse than here. You guys are like a second set of parents. Wyatt freaks out any time I try to dress in something that doesn't cover me from knees to neck." She groaned in frustration, "This isn't fair. Just because you're not powerful enough to live on your own--" She froze and looked at him, wide eyed.

"Oh my gosh, I didn't mean that." She gasped and threw her hands out theatrically, wrists up, "Vanquish me now, really. I mean it." She winced, waiting for his response.

Chris pushed the annoyance into a corner. His lack of power was something he'd always been a little sore about, but he'd had years to come to terms. Didn't mean he didn't want to get her back though... He looked over at her and smirked, "Said the girl who can't orb."

The tension eased out of her shoulders and a half smirk came onto her face, "Says you." She wiggled her fingers in a small wave and a blue light overtook her body, orbs whisking her up and through the ceiling... and then she just popped back to where she was standing, looking smug as ever.

Unfortunately for Melinda, she'd been born after their father had gotten his own mortality. Technically she was still a witchlighter, but the dormant whitelighter genes were nearly impossible to coax out. Powers wise, she was the most vulnerable of the three, but she was too stubborn to let that remain the case.

The one power she did have she used to perfection, making her a very dangerous illusionist. She could make a blind man see, if it suited her. Still, it wasn't enough for their parents who were insisting on the magically buddy system. As much as he understood Mel's point of view, he sympathized with his parents' more. Better a stifled sister than a dead one.

"You can't illusion yourself an offensive power, Mel," Chris poked her in the shoulder, "You can still be hurt."

"Point is that the _demons_ don't know I can't orb." She shrugged, "I'd just fake the orb, pull an invisible woman, and bravely hide in the closet. I'd be fine."

She frowned when her brother made no moves to answer her. He just gave her an apologetic smile and moved off into the dining room.

"Besides," She pitched in, halfheartedly, "I have two ridiculously awesome brothers who can swoop in to save me."

Chris barely heard her, too busy with the sudden dark _pressure_ he felt. The world faded momentarily and he blinked sightlessly, almost forgetting to breathe in as a sudden overbearing feeling overtook him. He couldn't identify it as it seeped into his skin and then, just as it reached his heart, it dawned on him.

Complete. Utter. Hopelessness.

... and then his heart stopped.

"Chris!"

He sucked in a breath and stagged back shortly, only standing straight because of the hands on his arms. He blinked and focused on Melinda, her nearly identical green eyes staring at him widely.

"Chris," Melinda breathed, paler than usual, "Are you all right? You're...cold."

Was he alright? He wasn't entirely sure... He shook himself out of it, shutting his eyes briefly to find his balance before answering, "Yeah..." He said even as he put his palm over his heart to check if it was still beating.

"..the hell was that?" Melinda pressed, noticing the movement.

"Nothing," He said with more conviction than last time, "I'm fine." He stepped out of her grip and gave her a smile. "Really."

Melinda squinted at him, suspicious, but for once she didn't have a comment to add.

Chris looked down at his watch and winced slightly, "Ah, yeah, I gotta go make an appearance at Magic school." He stepped around her and deliberately ruffled her hair, "I'll see you at dinner tonight, alright?"

Chris disappeared in the shine of the bright blue orbs, leaving an uneasy looking Melinda standing alone in the Manor.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A/N:: Okay, so we're trying something a little different. Okay, a lot different for me. Not entirely a new concept in the future fics but I gotta do it. I promise to do something slightly out of the ordinary with it. As for update times. I've got about a quarter of the fic done but I'm notorious for losing inspiration. So here's to hoping I can keep that going cause this fic is oodles of fun so far.

As typical, Reviews are win in a can and keep the creativity wheels greased.


	2. Blood in the Library

Disclaimer: In the words of lolcat. Do Not Want! ...to be sued. So. Don't. Please?

**Chapter Two: Blood in the Library.**

**November 16th, 2020. 6:00**

This was not where he was supposed to be. It was his 16th birthday. He was supposed to be doing many things. Having cake with his family. Desperately dodging his various dead relatives whose only mission in death seemed to be to ask awkward questions about girlfriends. At this point, he'd settle for standing in a DMV line even though the idea of having a license meant nil to someone who merely had to think it and they could be halfway across the world. Point was, Chris would rather be doing any of those things. _Any_. Instead, where was he now?

In jail. Grand.

Chris blew his bangs out of his eyes irritably, eying the handcuffs ringing his wrists and chaining him to metal table before casting around to look for a clock even though he knew the room didn't have one. It was less to actually know the time he knew that perfectly well, he had a near freakishly correct inner clock. He was just attempting to find something else to look at than the wrinkled detective before him, who'd done nothing but glare at Chris quizzically for the last couple hours.

The detective seemed to be convinced that Chris had committed some sort of crime or another, not that he'd deigned to say exactly what that crime was. Chris had tried to start up a conversation in a number of varying ways, each one growing less and less polite, but the cop didn't speak. At least not beyond a few basic paperwork questions that Chris carefully answered before the man switched back to staring at him with glazed over eyes.

It was infuriating.

Usually, Chris was a fairly calm person, but in a way more obviously genetic than learned, he was more than a bit of a control freak. He liked thing to be as he planned them to be. When they weren't, he got agitated. He could deal with it, he'd just have to go make another plan to work around it and the world would be golden. Of course when that failed he got... neurotic.

.. and there was no way to more effectively take away a person's sense of control than lock them to a table for no conceivable reason and then proceed to watch them like a circus sideshow. Frankly it was a credit to his patience that Chris had lasted _this _long. He'd held onto his patience simply because he didn't want to give them any reason to ransack the Manor. There were lots of things in that place that would be very, very awkward to explain. Even with that cheerful mental image in mind, Chris's will was running thin.

And dammit! The man would not. Stop. Staring at him.

"Would you _stop that." _Chris bit out the words even before he'd made the decision to say them.

The cop's wrinkled forehead shrunk into each other, giving him an unfortunate resemblance to a badly groomed pug. Yet he kept staring. The man was _damaged. _Chris twisted his hands in the cuffs and let out a shaking sigh, trying to distract himself from the urge to orb out of the damn things. That would crack magic open quite nicely, especially with that handy camera up in the corner.

Instead, Chris cast his glare upwards, staring through the foam ceiling tiles and up into Elderland, deciding that it was safe to at least be mad at them. They'd probably had something to do with this. They'd been less than charitable ever since Chris had turned down a charge a few months earlier. It'd taken a patented Piper death glare to get them to back down. Maybe this was some kind of childish elder retribution. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Talking to God?" The detective finally spoke, voice gruff and seemingly out of place after so much silence.

"Oh, so you're speaking now?" Chris tched, annoyed and unsurprisingly not receiving an answer. He finally shrugged and added, "Not god. Just some people who think they are."

The older man opened his mouth like a fish then closed it, scratching at his receding hairline and casting around uselessly while he tried to process that information. Chris couldn't even stir up the will to guess to what conclusion he was coming to, just as long as it wasn't related to a straight jacket.

"Now, what did you say your name was again?" The detective looked up from the papers again, visibly concentrating as if Chris were going to attempt to trick him. For a second, he entertained the idea of doing so, before his mind snapped back to the straight jacket and a search warrant with the Manor's address on it. Instead, he just settled for an martyred sigh.

"Christopher. Perry. Halliwell."

The man squinted, "Not a junior?"

"No!"

"Then what's your dad's name?"

"You know who he is." Chris didn't roll his eyes, he rolled his whole head, "Leo Wyatt? The guy standing out there in the waiting room yelling at your boss and getting you fired." Chris rolled his eyes. Leo and the family had kept them updated on their efforts over the whitelighter link. So far the police had stonewalled them almost entirely.

The detective tapped on the desk, "You sure he's your real dad?"

"_Yes." _

The silence dragged, "You got an older twin or something?"

Chris attempted to toss his hands in the air in frustration only to be tugged down again by the handcuffs. "For the love of... _No!_ That isn't even _possible._" He nearly growled, "Look, I don't know what damage you have, and I'm not sure what you have against me, but you've got to get over it. You can't just come to my school, in the middle of class, and _arrest _me with absolutely no explanation. The least you could do for me is to provide that."

The detective's expression went from confused to annoyed, "We've got every right to ask you questions, kid. Have a little respect for the badge and cooperate."

"I had a 'little respect' when I got here _eight freaking hours ago!_ Excuse me if I'm running low on it now. Besides, I haven't lost my respect for _the_ badge, I've lost my respect for _your_ badge." Chris was growling now, barely resisting the urge to orb, if only just to go look up his rights. He knew there were laws against this somewhere. He should have a guardian in here with him at least.

"Just--" Chris took a calming breath, "tell me what the charges are."

The Detective looked him up and down cautiously before attempting to speak, "Okay then, you're here on charges of impersonating a minor, resisting and evading arrest, escaping from prison, and assault on one Sergeant Morris..." The man's eyes slid to the left and he mumbled another sentence too low to hear, and Chris wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"What was that last part?" He pressed.

The officer refused to look at him, "... seventeen years ago."

"You've got to be kidding," Chris stared in wonder at the collective stupidity, "I wasn't even _conceived_ yet."

"So you say..." The Detective said dramatically, "Your prints match perfectly to our records."

The teenager scoffed, "Then your records are crap. This is insane."

A sharp knock broke off whatever incredibly witty retort the detective was conjuring up and Henry Mitchell poked his head in the room, making a small calming gesture at Chris before stepping in.

"Detective?" Henry tapped the man on the shoulder and gestured at the phone in his hand, "We have Darryl Morris on the line. We sent him those pictures and he wants to speak with you."

The Detective crooked an eyebrow but took the phone nonetheless.

"Ah, Sergeant M-- I mean Chief, apologies. We were just hoping you could just confirm the identity-- Well, no." The Detective's confidence visibly slid away, inch by inch as the voice on the other side of the phone spoke. A steady minute passed by until the detective's face was a nice shade of red.

Chris waited until he was fully absorbed with the phone call before looking up at Henry with raised eyebrows. His uncle just smiled smugly to himself.

"No, well, yes. Yes I am aware of how aging works. No, you're right people do not age backwards... I-I do understand... No sir, I am not an idiot... Yes I do like my badge. There's no need to call my superiors. Yes. Y-...You want to what?" The Detectives face crumpled into near fear, then back to the typical confusion before he held out the phone to Chris. "He wants to speak with you..."

Chris tossed another look at Henry, and with his silent nod, he twisted his hands inside of the cuffs and took the phone. "Uh, Hello?"

"Sorry about that," The voice said easily. It was deep and kind voice, one that struck a sense of familiarity in him.

"No problem... I guess." Chris responded feeling slightly out of his depth.

"They've been told to let you go. Sorry it took so long," Daryl chuckled lightly before he sighed, "Tell your parents and aunts hello and... I'm sorry, for, you know, _everything_. Any time they're in my neck of the woods, they're welcome to stop by. Sheila misses them."

Chris let the words sink in, face softening. The man sounded tired and...sad perhaps. "Sure," He answered eventually before continuing hesitantly, "So... do I _want_ to know how this happened?"

"Oh _hell_ no." Daryl laughed outright, "Still gives me a headache sometimes!"

Chris couldn't help but smile, if just a bit, "Noted. Thanks." Better just to write this off as some kind of spell gone terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

"Anytime.. and I mean that this time. Oh, and Chris? Happy Birthday."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**November 16th, 2027. 9:30**

Chris had discovered a long time ago that he was particularly adept at pretending to read. What was sad was that he had to do it so often, just for a moment of peace, and he'd discovered quick that nothing quite deflected inquiring minds quite like a glaring librarian. He loved every member of his family dearly... all 14 of them. As a whole, though, they were all nosy, loud, and collectively ignorant of the concept of alone time. Thus, he'd practically carved out a corner of the library for himself just for such times that his family was being inquisitive. _  
_

All he needed today was just an hour to collect his thoughts and steel himself for the inevitable train wreck that was going to be his day. He didn't think he could take much more than that before one of the Halliwells braved the stacks and dragged him out. In the meantime, though, he holed up in the Magic School library, using the time to figure out exactly what had happened to him in the Manor's kitchen. He was still shaken from it. Every so often he'd reach up to the left side of his chest, just to make sure his heart was still beating.

He still felt... odd, though he couldn't pinpoint what was off. It was like he was... detached. Floating above his own head and watching someone else live his life for him. Every other minute a stray feeling passed through his mind like a ghost, nondescript but there. When that wasn't happening, he'd get aches and pains, sharp and sudden, but barely there, skin prickling like it had just fallen asleep before finally disappearing in the next second.

Chris jumped as he felt another pain down his back, shooting down his spine in hasty spikes. He hissed and snapped the book in his lap shut irritably. It was getting worse. He twisted to rub his back, mind drifting off again, mind chasing down possibilities at a hundred miles an hour. Then the idea struck him...

What if it wasn't magical? What it it was it wasn't some magical backlash or long distance curse? What if there was just some normal _mortal_ problem?

"You're in the way,"

Chris nearly jumped at the voice, and he twisted to see a man standing next to his chair, a rust red book in hand. He was sharp faced and pale. Hell, the man didn't look like he'd slept in years. Chris frowned at him, naturally suspicious. The man seemed surprised for a second and raised his hands as if surrendering.

"Apologies," He said in a thin voice, "I must return this book." He pointed lightly and Chris followed his finger to the shelf directly behind him that he was blocking.

He should have felt apologetic, he was sure, but another wisp of emotion danced through his skull, sending him into a dark suspicious mood for a moment. He moved out of the way wordlessly, eyes narrowed.

The man simply nodded a thanks and awkwardly slipped behind him to stash the book in its empty spot. He moved to turn away before something on the shelf caught his eye and he reached out to pull three more books out and put them back in their correct order.

Chris crossed his arms protectively, staring the man down, "Are you a librarian?"

The man stopped shortly, in the middle of freeing six more books to be put back, blinking at him dimly. "No." He shook his head and returned to putting the tomes in their rightful space.

[[ I call upon the ancient power. To help us in this darkest hour. Let the book return to this place. Claim refuge in its rightful space.]]

Chris blinked, momentarily shocked at the random spell, before forcefully shaking the thoughts away and turning back to the man who seemed to be completely lost in his own head, shifting books down another shelf to make room for the proper owners.

"So you're a teacher then?" Chris pressed.

The man twisted, yet again, seeming surprised that he was being talked to. "No. I'm not a teacher." He moved to go back to the shelves, but Chris telekinetically pulled the books from his hands and slammed them into their respective spots.

"You're too old to be a student. So who are you?" Chris demanded.

For a split second, the man seemed angry, clouded hazel eyes narrowing dangerously, and in a flash, it was gone.

"Alumni," He stated simply, "I'm an alumni."

Chris huffed moodily, as the random emotion retreated, making him feel off balance and floaty again. He didn't like it.

"...you are?" The man asked, unblinking.

"Leaving." Chris grabbed his jacket, frowning forcefully and trying to pass by the creepy pale man... except said creepy pale man evidently didn't want to let him leave. He'd stepped right into Chris's path, cutting off any escape in the narrow aisle.

"You are also too old to be a student." The man stared up at him, until his eyes slid to the side where a book about imps was completely out of place between two spell books.

Chris glared, "Alumni. Now if you'd just let me pass, I'll give you and your OCD some alone time, you both seem to love each other very, very much."

The man's attention snapped back, "No. What is your name."

Chris sighed and swiped a hand over his eyes. All of a sudden he just felt so tired, so spent. He eased a breath out, trying to dispel the weird mood and mostly succeeding. He looked back to the shorter man who was still staring at him unnervingly.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped. I'm just not feeling well. If you could just step aside, I need to go talk to a healer about it."

The man blinked quickly and tilted his head. "No."

"Okay, man," Chris snorted, anger returning quickly, "**Move.**"

"No."

"Oh, that's it." Chris raised his hands and gestured at the shelves, sending books sailing from opposite shelves and nesting back absolutely out of order.

The man's mouth dropped open and a small infantile sound dropped out of his mouth. It was the high pitched whine of a toddler who'd had his toys taken away and cruelly stashed on a high shelf. Chris felt momentarily bad before slipping past the man and escaping.

Another pain stabbed him in the ankle, tripping up his steps. He managed to catch himself on a desk, and waited as his ankle throbbed for a few seconds before it faded completely.

"Christopher," Ms. Donovan came up next to him, patting him on the shoulder in slightly mollifying way only a childhood babysitter could do. "Are you alright, dear?"

He tested his ankle hesitantly. The pain was completely gone, "Yeah," He frowned, too confused to be embarrassed at tripping over nothing, "I think I'm-- Ow! Son of a--" Chris jolted and pulled his forearm up against his chest in pain.

"What in the..." Chris pulled his arm out slowly and heard Ms. Donovan gasp as they both watch his sleeve quickly saturate with red, his blood already running down his fingers and pooling on the floor.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Why won't it heal?" Ms. Donovan asked worriedly, hands gripping Chris's shoulder protectively. Chris pressed his lips together at the pain, wondering the exact same thing but not particularly wanting to venture an answer.

The floating feeling had decreased somewhat, receding into the back of his mind, occasionally taunting him with bare flashes of recognition or feelings that didn't even last long enough for him to give a name to. He didn't really want to think about that either, especially not in front of Ms. Donovan. She was a sweet woman and deserved not to worry about him.

It didn't help that she'd absolutely refused to leave him alone, dragging him up to his father's office and tearing through the halls to find a whitelighter when they discovered Leo wasn't there.

Now the two of them had him firmly seated on the sofa, arm stretched out with the Whitelighter, Joseph, bent over it, spreading a disgusting looking gritty brown paste over the open gash on the inside of his arm.

"You're lucky, you know," Joseph glanced up briefly, "If you'd have been outside of magic school when this had happened..."

Chris just grunted in agreement, tapping irritably with his good hand as the whitelighter pushed the goop hastily into the still oozing gash. He got that Joseph was just attempting to get the bleeding to stop, but could he at least _try _not to cause more pain?

Joseph smoothed the paste out, making Chris hiss, before bringing out a bowl of purple tinged water and pouring it over his arm. The paste and blood slicked off, revealing a scabbed over, but obviously much more healed wound on his arm.

"So?" Ms. Donovan looked at the whitelighter expectantly, "Why didn't it heal?"

Joseph frowned quickly as he pulled out some clean bandages and went to wind them around his arm. "I have no idea," he shook his head, then paused and looked up at Chris almost hesitantly, "unless it was--"

"Self inflicted?" Chris asked, annoyed that he would even think that. "No. It was _not_." He sank back into the chair, tired and blood deprived.

Ms. Donovan patted him on the arm sympathetically, "We really should find your father."

Chris cracked open an eye and looked down at himself, frowning. The cut had most likely nicked something major in his arm because his side was almost completely covered in blood. He looked like a suicide victim at a bad haunted house. The thought made him almost sympathize with Joseph's thought... which then made him jump to what his parents would think.

"Augh," He slid a hand across his face again, "No we shouldn't."

The woman and the whitelighter blinked at him. Joseph spoke first, "Why the he-er..heck not?"

Chris sent him a wry grin. He must be new.

"Look," He sat up straighter, trying to convince the both of him he was fine, "My parents are crazy protective enough as it is. If they see me like I am now, they're going to have a coronary and then Mel will _never_ get to move out of the house. So no, we're not going to tell them."

The Whitelighter and Librarian traded looks then looked back to him as if he was nuts.

"Just!" He added quickly, "just until I get a change of clothes and a reason for this at least. If I can propose a solution, then they'll be less likely to freak out. Okay?" He eyed them both, willing them to go along with it.

Neither of them looked particularly happy to be put at odds with the ex-elder and eldest Charmed One, but with a little more prodding, they eventually agreed to giving him two hours to fess up or they would for him.

Chris pulled his watch out of his pocket and used his clean sleeve to wipe the blood off the face.

Whoops. In all this, he'd nearly forgot. So much for the creepy correct internal clock.

"Ms. Donovan, Joseph. Thanks, but I'm gonna get started on this right now." He went to jump off the couch and was hit with a severe case of blood loss induced vertigo before regaining his bearings and orbing out. He barely comprehended the transfer, knowing where to go by heart, a few seconds later, he materialized in another apartment.

"There you are, I was about to get..."

Chris heard her voice before he even finished orbing, her tanned face and dyed copper hair forming as the blue lights of the orbs cleared his vision. She took one look at him and her face dropped into open disbelief. "... worried." She finished her sentence dully.

"Uh, hey," He smiled apologetically, "Sorry I'm late. I was a bit...sidetracked."

"Tell me who did this," Bianca looked up, face dark, "because I'm going to kill them."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A/N: Yep. Bianca's going to be around. I think people mistreat her a lot in fics and I've never quite understood the outright hate people have for her. She's just about as contrary as Chris is and I find that ridiculously interesting. Plus, the poor boy has gone through hell and dammit, he deserves to be happy. SO! Yeah, hullo Bianca. Also, I can barely remember Ms. Donovan. If she's out of character, I blame her old age.

Also, my dad's a cop. I don't hate them nor do I think they're stupid. But, since I've got some eyes on the inside, I'm explicitly aware that there are some dumbass law enforcement employees out there, just like any other job.

Cheers.


	3. Secret Secrets

Disclaimer: Blah. Blah. Do not own. If I did, I would have shot them for the crappy effects in season 8. Really. Have a little pride, guys. Moving on...

**Chapter Three: Secret Secrets.**

**November 16th, 2025**

"You know this will never work, don't you."

Chris barely stopped, mid-motion, trying not to let the words take on any meaning. Trying not to pay attention to the defeated tilt to Bianca's stance. He could barely even see her though the lattices and leftover construction equipment that choked the floor of P3. She was just flashes of color illuminated behind tarps, carefully separated from him... unreachable.

He shook his head sharply and turned back to place the last two warding crystals at the base of the door, each lighting up pleasantly to tell them they were safe. Bianca shifted slightly, arms crossed loosely as she looked up into the stage lights above her. Chris crossed the floor slowly, using the time to steel himself.

"Don't worry," He said finally, reaching the base of the stage and staring up at her, "They won't find you here. There's almost as many wards here as Magic School."

Bianca looked down at him, fingers drumming on her arm, "You know that wasn't what I was talking about."

Chris simply shrugged, "Really? Because I didn't peg you for someone who'd break up with a guy for something this little."

"This _little?_" She groaned and pressed a finger to her forehead, "You call demons a little problem?"

She quickly sidestepped that argument as soon as he saw his posture. She'd almost forgotten who she was speaking to.

"It's not just this," She started again. "This is just another omen, and you know it. Only six months together and all these problems, plus this? All the secrecy, the running behind our family's backs and now _another _demon attack." Bianca turned on her heel, hair whipping angrily around her, shoulders bowed. "Wake up, Halliwell."

Chris leaned on the stage heavily, not sure what to say. He couldn't say he hadn't been expecting this. As much as he insisted that demons were a minor inconvenience, this attack had whole other connotations. This was the wakeup call, the attack set to remind them that them simply being together was more dangerous then anything either of them had done so far.

At first they'd tried to minimize the danger. They thought if they kept their relationship secret, it'd be fine. They didn't want the magical world to get in an uproar over what could just be some fling that'd burn out in a matter of days.

Then the days turned to weeks then to months and both of them were slowly beginning to realize that this wasn't something they could really just drop any more, and yet the complications were still there. It was only a matter of time before someone found out... and they did.

The Phoenixes had signed several treaties agreeing to neutrality, knowing that the world was due to flip moralities sooner or later and they didn't want to be caught in the middle. As long as they didn't throw in with one side or another, they were safe. One of those treaty holders, became aware of their relationship and found it in direct conflict. She was officially fair game and an easy target.

The attack had set their problems in strict focus.

Bianca knew they could deal with this attack, no problem, but it opened up her line of sight for what the future could hold. They'd win this fight, sure, but there'd be others. She'd accepted a long time ago that being a Phoenix brought certain demonic hangups, but she hadn't really anticipated dragging those problems onto someone else... She hadn't imagined that she'd actually care. For once in her life, she wasn't worried about herself. She knew she couldn't deal with it if something happened to Chris, and that scared her more than any demon.

It was better to end it now, before this small problem became a big one and Chris got caught up in it. If she had to hurt him a little to keep him safe overall... so be it.

The Phoenix turned, steeling her nerves and keeping her face carefully neutral.

"We had our laughs," She stated imperiously, "Anything more would be greedy. The Powers have made it pretty damn clear as to how this has got to end."

Chris dipped his head, keeping silent. A deep seated dread had taken root, even as he tried to close himself off for the inevitable end. If she wanted to end it, that was her decision. Sometimes things didn't work out, statistics showed that most relationships didn't last more than two years, maybe it was best to just end it early and get it over with.

He would have, if it weren't for that damn inner voice that was screaming at him to grow a pair. The voice that was saying that, like it or not, he loved her and he was not losing her again, especially to some two bit mid range demons. It was entirely irrational, but he wasn't going to let this end. Damn the consequences.

"The Powers huh?" Chris said flatly, staring up at her abruptly, "You think I care about them? I'm half _whitelighter _if you haven't noticed. If anyone from my family cared about what _they_ though I wouldn't even exist right now. And the demons? I care about what they think even less."

Chris' voice was deadly cold, "If those are the only reasons you have for breaking up with me, you should really start working on some new ones, cause I'm just not buying it right now."

Bianca hopped down gracefully from the stage and poked her finger sharply in his shoulder, "You're over simplifying this. You--"

"Do you love me?" Chris grabbed her hand before she could jab him again and stared up at her defiantly. Bianca just stared at him dumbstruck for a moment.

"That's not fair." She tried to pull away but Chris caught a better grip on her wrist and rooted her there.

"Answer." He ordered.

Bianca just glared back. "Are you infuriating on purpose, Christopher, or just to me?"

"Depends on the day," He allowed himself a smile.

"You..." Bianca seethed, frustrated that he wasn't understanding, desperate for an argument. "You don't get it. My family _hates_ Halliwells."

"I'm used to it," Chris shrugged, "Answer the question."

"My family would love any excuse to start a feud with you and if this goes up in flames, they'll _have _that reason. You want to be responsible for that?"

"Doesn't matter. Do you love me?"

"God damnit, yes!" Bianca said sharply, only just resisting the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth.

She hadn't meant to say that. She scrambled for a recovery.

"Damnit, Halliwell. I may love you now, but that might not always be. As soon as that happens you'll have that feud."

Chris grinned, a little punch drunk at the argument. He wanted to say right then and there that they'd never fall out of love. He was a hairsbreadth from saying it too, he was so giddy. He almost had the urge to check and see if Coop was hiding under a scaffold or something before he realized he didn't care either way. Even in the haze, his natural fatalistic instincts kicked in.

It _would_ be bad if they broke up... and so many relationships didn't last there was a real chance they'd end up the same way. Besides, he didn't know how he was going to explain all of this to his family, let alone Bianca's, and he didn't feel like getting an energy ball to the gut any time soon.

"So, we just won't tell them," Chris shook his head, "We keep it secret."

Bianca froze, fingers clasped into fists, fighting a loosing battle in her mind with the little bits of hope that kept taking root. What if... but no... she couldn't keep that kind of secret from her family. They'd find out and the result would be the same.

"Two years." Chris added quickly, letting go of Bianca's wrist and reached up to run a knuckle along her jaw, attempting to keep her attention. She leaned into it, in spite of herself, pinning her lips together. "Two years from now, we'll keep it secret until then. If we can make it that far without crashing and burning then we'll tell both our families. If we break up before then, no harm done."

Bianca narrowed her eyes, staying silent for a long time. It was all for show, her resistance was broken down and she was running on pure stubbornness at this point, mind reeling. Perhaps it wasn't just a bad idea. He could take care of himself, and if it got bad enough, she'd just end it then...

The Phoenix sighed, clearly annoyed, "This would be so much easier if you'd just let me break up with you."

Chris didn't wait a second longer before he leaned in to catch a deep kiss. There was a certain finality to it, like you got when you signed a contract. This was it, their lot in life, for better or worse and all that. Bianca leaned in, catching her hands in his collar and letting the usual sense of unnatural ease overtake her. Like everything was good and the world was how it should be. Like she'd found a long lost friend.

They were so involved that they two of them barely reacted when lightening crackled across P3's walls, trashing the wards and signaling the unfortunate entrance of five demons.

"Where's the Phoenix?!" The largest demon crowed.

The two witches didn't even bother looking at them for a second, faced descending into annoyance. With the flick of a hand, all five of the demons found themselves pinned awkwardly to the nearest wall.

"I'd forgotten about them..." Chris sighed.

"Me too," Bianca glared, reluctantly letting go of Chris' shirt and summoning an athame. "If we're going to keep this secret, we'll have to start with them."

Chris just grinned and shrugged, bowing out of her way, "Ladies first."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**November 16th, 2027. 11:00 am.**

"Maybe they were invisible with a blessed athame." Bianca swung around the bathroom doorway, clean shirt in hand. Chris just shook his head, and dipped the now bloodstained rag into the sink.

"In Magic School? Not likely." He shrugged, "Besides, there's no hole in the shirt."

Bianca sagged against the doorway, straightening her jaw in frustration, "What about the Vesper?"

"They're neutral. No reason for it."

"Some kind of curse?"

"Not in Magic School." Chris wrung the cloth out tenderly, trying to ignore the twinge in his arm as he did. Probably wouldn't help the situation any, not with Bianca on the warpath. She'd calmed down a reasonable amount when he'd cleaned up and assured her that he was on the straight path to recovery but she was still far from relaxed.

The Phoenix heaved a sigh, "What if we use an Intent to Harm spell?"

Chris laughed at that, tugging the shirt out of her hands, "What, and be reminded that most of the underworld would be happy to kill me given the chance? No thanks."

"You're not helping." Bianca frowned and gently caught his injured arm, observing the partially healed injury again before she reached across the counter and snatched a new roll of bandages, wordlessly setting to wrapping it back up. Chris let her, happy to give her something to concentrate on.

He knew that being out of control of the situation bothered her, it was something they had very much in common. The difference was, while he'd learned that at some point you just had to accept the world was crap and you lived on anyway, Bianca wasn't willing to do that. She would much rather bend the world until it fit her own ideals. Problem was sometimes that was impossible... and she just couldn't deal with that.

Chris was beginning to regret coming here first. He'd been so worried about what his family would think if he orbed in soaked in blood, that he hadn't even begun to consider how his girlfriend would feel.

Bianca's gaze flickered up momentarily and her eyebrows pinched together, "Stop that."

He blinked, confused, "What?"

"You're blaming yourself again," She twisted the last bit of cotton around his wrist and fastened it with an expert hand. "I'm a big girl, Halliwell, I can handle my own neurosis. You just worry about your own problems for once. "

Chris choked out a laugh and hooked his good arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her temple. She merely raised an eyebrow at him, still wanting an answer, though he could clearly see that the edge of worry had faded.

"Fine." He shrugged, "I don't see what the big deal is, though. If this person was trying to kill me, they'd have to be a complete idiot to try it at Magic School. It's impossible there."

Bianca scoffed, pulling back slightly, "Even an idiot can have a good day, Chris, and we're going to have to get this taken care of before we meet up with my family."

"Another good reason to not look into it." Chris deadpanned.

"It was your idea in the first place, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." Chris sighed and reluctantly loosened his grip on her enough to shrug into his new blood-free shirt, "Not my brightest. I'm good with secrets, just not telling them."

Bianca snickered lightly, "Have I ever told you that you'd make a better Phoenix than a Halliwell?"

"Repeatedly, but I don't think I'd look good in the uniform."

She laughed brightly, popping up on her toes for a quick kiss and exited in a fan of dark hair. Chris settled back, letting himself really relax for the first time that day. He had to admit, injury or no, he felt the best he had in days. That floating feeling was completely gone and any dread that had lingered from earlier was just a passing thought. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to take a page from Bianca's book. He was tired of laying in front of the steamroller. It was far past time to take this whole curse thing and get to the bottom of it.

He got two steps into the living room by the time the metaphorical steamroller decided to make its entrance. Chris halted, momentarily dazed. It was like the world had gone bright and dark at the very same time. The disconnected feeling was back, full force... and so was a hell of a lot of pain, so much that it took him a minute to really figure out where it was coming from.

Bianca stepped back into the room just as he found it, hand covering the newfound hole in his stomach like his life depended on it. As the world grayed and his legs gave up on him, Chris realized that was a particularly apt statement.

And then the world ceased to exist.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Shorter chapter, but it was something I had to get out of the way before the whole shebang really starts. If you haven't caught on by now, this whole fic is in the space of one day, so it's pretty much going to be pedal to the metal from here on in.

Also...please, please, please review. I have a horrible case of the woe-me's coming on. I'm an artist, I have zero confidence in my writing skills, so I get all angsty every once in a while and get the urge to delete all my fics. _ It's not a threat, promise, more of a plea, really…. reviews help. Lots.


	4. The Afterlife

Disclaimer: Not mine... not quite sure who owns it these days, but more power to them.

Also, a note for these little chunks of flashbacks: Unless otherwise stated, they're in the changed future, not the nasty one. Well, except this one...which is a bit of both. Time travel makes my head hurt.

**Chapter Four: The Afterlife.**

**November 16th 2004**

"Clarence..." Chris spotted the Angel of Death in the corner and smiled despite himself, "Are you stalking me again?"

The Angel smiled back, hands clasped serenely in front of him, his janitorial outfit replaced with something more appropriate of his station. It was somehow reassuring, for no reason Chris could put a finger on. Even living a life like his where demons and magic live in every corner, the idea that an Angel of Death had been spying on him for weeks was... unsettling, to put it subtly. It was nice to separate this person from that janitor who had come by and ironically told him to get a life every other night.

The Angel stepped forward, "What can I say, I kinda like ya, kid. I had been hoping it wouldn't come to this."

"But you knew it would..." Chris said, bitterness clearly evident. On a different day he'd bother to be nicer, but he was honestly just too tired.

"Honestly? I wasn't sure." The angel shrugged, "Never quite know with you. You've had a habit of beating the odds before."

The smile faded on Chris's lips as he felt the last bit of hope leave him. That last scrap that told him Leo would whip up some kind of miracle or the sisters would crash in and save the day like the always used to, like they hopefully would in the future. A horrible seething fear wound its way around his spine. What if he hadn't done enough? What if it was all for nothing... damn, that would suck.

Chris forced his eyes open, not realizing they'd closed, and found Clarence, "Wyatt and all them..."

The Angel smiled conspiratorially, "It will be rough for the next years, but your family will be happy."

The fear sank as fast as it came and he shook out a shallow breath, "Good..."

He had a feeling he should be scared, or angry... any one of those stages of death would be natural at this point. He certainly didn't want to die, he'd worked way too damn hard to stay alive all this time that it should feel like a monumental waste to get this close and have it end. Then again, he'd always been prepared, ever since Wyatt took control and the world went to literal hell.

That's why he'd been so entirely reluctant to leave Bianca in the attic that first time and so willing the second. He knew he wouldn't be coming back to that time alive. Maybe that was just his lot in this life. His job was to save everyone else. Wyatt, his parents, aunts, Bianca. Every face he could never forget in the hollows of the safe houses that were never safe, and all the hundreds of thousands that he'd never have the chance to even see that suffered all the same. That was his lot.

The real question to as is: Was he okay with that?

Chris looked over at Clarence, not at all surprised at the expression on his face. An expression that said he'd heard and understood everything that had just run through Chris's head. The witchlighter just rolled his eyes at him.

"Well," The Angel asked prompted softly, "Are you? Your life for theirs?"

Chris just stared at the ceiling, noticing how he couldn't feel his fingers any more.

"Yes." Chris whispered finally, smiling sarcastically inwardly because he didn't have the energy to do it outwardly, "I'm okay with that."

The Angel lowered his head in respect, nodding.

"Just... one thing." Chris mumbled.

"Yes?"

He forced his eyes open again, "Let me see my dad again, just for a bit."

"Sure thing, kid." Clarence smiled, settling down weightlessly and resting a cool hand on his forehead, "Just rest. He'll be back before you know it."

Chris nodded shortly, fading just before the Paige's desperate voice broke the silence in the house. He barely noticed as the police swarmed in and out. He didn't notice his aunt elbowing her way through the police, raising her hands and unsuccessfully willing herself to develop the ability to heal. He just concentrated on breathing. Clarence waited there, silent and invisible, buying the boy time until Leo returned, giving him a mental nudge to wake him.

Even with this talents, he couldn't hold the boy for for long, not if the plan was going to work. He managed a few minutes, the only thing keeping Chris alive was pure will on the boy's part, but eventually, that too gave out.

Clarence stepped in carefully around the grieving elder, drawing his soul and body away, leaving Leo with nothing. He felt for the man, but there was no time.

A flash and he was standing next to an operating table, staring down at Piper Halliwell, blood draining out of her at alarming rates, spellbound doctors not trying nearly as hard as they should.

Piper was not destined to die, he knew. The baby, however...

Clarence sent a look up through the ceiling, even as he felt power that wasn't entirely his own drain into him. He hoped that the choices of the day had not been made lightly. He hoped they knew what they were doing.

With a glowing hand, The Angel of Death reached out, and changed destiny.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**November 16th, 2027. 11:20**

Mel flipped upside down on the couch, feet propped up on the back as she nudged the pages to the next chapter in her french book, making rhymes in her head already.

It was a bad habit, she knew. Like a gun in a mortal's hands, witches really shouldn't rhyme unless they mean it, even in their heads. She couldn't entirely help it though. She'd been fascinated with words and the concept of spells across languages. She knew three fairly fluently so far and was working on another six. She was extremely good at it, and knew it. Leo had said it was her heavily dormant whitelighter genes taking effect. Mel preferred to think she was just awesome.

She flipped through the pages, easily picking up verb conjugations and well hidden grammatic rules before flipping again, mood already darkening, wishing for an excuse to sneak out for a while. Just a bit, that was all she asked! She'd even take a demon vanquish if that's what it took and she wasn't too overly fond of those...

"HALLIWELLS!"

Mel screamed involuntarily as the foreign voice tore through the walls like they weren't even there. The youngest Halliwell didn't even spare a second to try to decipher who it was, she was already tumbling to her feet, hitting the carpet running. She skidded to a halt in the foyer, taking the space of a breath to gauge her surroundings. She saw the woman first, dark, beautiful, and imposing... then she saw her brother.

Mel didn't ask questions, she illusioned up a fireball, hurling it in the woman's general direction. It hit and fizzled against the stained glass as the woman shimmered out to avoid it. She reappeared, a few feet to the side, unmistakably rattled. Frankly, Mel didn't care. She faked orbing in a crystal cage and hoped that would scare her into staying put for long enough. Her priority was Chris.

She skidded next to him, hitting the floor gracelessly next to him, hands clamping down on the wound in his stomach in a way that would most likely be painful. Chris didn't even twitch. "Wyatt! Paige! Dad! Anyone! _Everyone!_" She called at the ceiling, "Now! Now, now!"

The room infused with blue and all of a sudden the foyer was a whole lot more crowded, Wyatt and Paige appearing on either side of her, hands pulling her back. She tried to shrug them off before she realized they belonged to her father. She looked back at him, scared. He was still in his school robes and white as a sheet, staring at the wound in Chris's stomach like he'd never seen blood before.

Leo caught Paige's eyes for the barest of seconds, communicating something Mel couldn't even guess at. She stepped back and wrapped her arms around her father even as she felt him shaking his head and mumbling.

"Not again... this isn't possible... not possible"

Mel tore her eyes away again, "What are you talking about?"

Leo didn't even seem to hear her.

"Damnit," Wyatt cursed, glaring at Paige even as the barest thought of giving up went through her head, "So help me, if you give up on him..."

Paige glared, the glow in her hands returning full force, "I wasn't gonna!"

Each pressed in forcing every bit of their considerable power and the wound stubbornly refused to heal. They got the feeling as if they were pressing against some unmovable wall... and then, with the same terrifying someone got just as the thin ice broke beneath them...something gave.

In a bare second the wound healed and shut, blood disappearing completely as if it were a dream. Chris gasped, breathing in like he never had before, turning onto his side and coughing. Paige looked up at Leo with watery eyes and smiled.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Leo couldn't stop his hands from shaking, even as he pulled the blanket over his unconscious son, hand jumping to the pulse on his wrist every few minutes, just to reassure himself. He couldn't leave for fear that the minute he did, Chris would disappear without a trace. Leo had this lingering feeling that the last 23 years had been nothing but a particularly cruel dream and he'd eventually wake up and realized Chris was dead, Gideon was still out there, and Wyatt was too far down the darker path to save anymore.

He didn't know what he'd do if that were true...

"Dad..." Melinda pulled on his sleeve hesitantly, face lined with worry, "Dad, I, uh, think you need to go talk to Wyatt."

"Wyatt?" Leo shook himself out of his thoughts and stared at his daughter, "Why? Is something wrong?"

He must have sounded more scared than he'd intended because Mel blinked in surprise and waved her hands for him to calm down, "N-No. No. He's just... eh, go see." She pointed tiredly at the foyer where Leo gradually became aware of raised voices. How had he not noticed that before?

"Oh," Leo stood up and pulled Melinda into the seat, "Stay with your brother and if anything happens, you know what to do."

Melinda nodded sharply, "Sure thing."

The ex-elder reluctantly left the room, heading through the sun room tracing the voices into the foyer. The words slowly came into focus, one was Wyatt sounding angrier than he'd ever heard him sound. The other, he wasn't quite sure... but she didn't sound entirely pleasant either.

"...if I had wanted to kill him, why in the hell would I bring him back here? No assassin would be _that _ stupid." Leo rounded the corner, eyebrows coming up at the sight. Wyatt was hovering just outside of the edge of the crystal cage, staring down a woman half his size trapped within it. Leo's mind numbly registered that he'd seen the woman when he'd arrive before, but he'd been too preoccupied with Chris he hadn't given her a further thought. Seeing things as they were, he felt he should have.

"So you admit you're an assassin?" Wyatt sniped, arms crossed.

"No!" She paused, face twisting in annoyance "Well, technically, yes, but not right now. God damn it you're obnoxious."

"Oh, I can be a lot a hell of a lot worse than this, mark my words..." Wyatt said darkly, snapping Leo back into full awareness. He stepped up behind his son and gently put a hand on his shoulder, not wanting to scare him into doing something he'd regret. Wyatt finally blinked and turned to him.

"Dad..." He breathed, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Who's this?" He nodded at Bianca, her stance hadn't calmed much, but her gaze had shifted from outright annoyance to something entirely more calculating.

"Don't know, she hasn't said," Wyatt shrugged bitterly, "She shimmered in with Chris literally red handed with blood and she's admitted she's an assassin and she's obviously a demon. There's no reason for Chris to be around her."

Bianca snorted uncharitably, "You ever consider that we might be friends?"

"Don't lie." Wyatt glared, "Chris isn't that stupid, and even if he was, he would have told me."

"Maybe he had a good reason to not trust you." Bianca sniped right back.

Using every ounce of his pacifistic sensibility, Leo pried his son back away from the crystal cage and turned to talk to the woman himself. She wasn't exactly innocent looking, but Leo had the benefit of past knowledge. This whole situation was entirely too coincidental to not be related to what happened all those years ago. He was willing to allow the girl the opportunity to talk at least.

Leo walked up to her slowly, "Well?"

The Phoenix shifted awkwardly under Leo's pointed Dad Look. The twice blessed was intimidating to be sure, in a way that made her insides go cold, but the ex- elder was intimidating in an entirely other way. She hurriedly rounded up her sarcasm and bit out a reply, "Well, what?"

Leo shook his head, "I appreciate you bringing my son back here in time, and I apologize if you are no threat, but we have to be sure. This family has many enemies."

"Mmhm." Bianca mumbled noncommittally, averted her eyes, deciding it was just easier that way.

"This will be easier on everyone if you just told us who you are..." Leo pressed.

Bianca stayed silent, but another voice answered for her.

"That," Piper said as soon as the orbs allowed, "Is _Bianca."_ The three charmed ones lined up behind him, all looking various shades of distrustful.

Leo stared quickly between them and the trapped Phoenix witch, mouth dropped open. He turned back to the sisters, "_That_ Bianca?"

"Well, yeah," Paige said as if it was obvious.

"You don't recognize her? Cause I sure as hell do." Phoebe added.

Leo shook his head and ran a hand over his face in memory, "I only saw her for a second before she put kicked me in the face."

"Ooh, yeah, ouch," Piper patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, "Sorry bout that honey. Now. _You._ Good or evil?" Piper pointed at Bianca expectantly, foot tapping against the floor.

Bianca gaped at them, absolutely floored, "What are you guys even /talking/ about, and how do you know my name?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised, missy," Piper smiled in an entirely unfriendly way, speaking in that completely nonplussed way of hers, "Bianca, Phoenix. Shimmers, conjures daggers, kicks my husband in the face. Future-you decided she wanted to hurt my family and kill my son. So! Don't blame us if we're jumping to any conclusions."

Bianca's face dropped into open confusion mouth working uselessly.

"Yeaah," Paige shrugged, "Don't ask, it'll make your brain hurt. I know mine does!" Phoebe nodded in agreement, rubbing her forehead.

Bianca narrowed her eyes at them, snapping her mouth shut and considering her options. When she tried again, she spoke slowly slowly, like one would when they realized they'd been locked in the cage with the circus lion, "You're all crazy, aren't you..."

Wyatt snickered despite himself before he clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh just tell us if you're good or evil or we're gonna start casting spells, and I don't feel in a particularly rhymy mood right now." Phoebe smiled brightly.

"I'm _good_!" Bianca bit out, "Not that you're going to believe me."

The three sisters traded a look with each other, staging a wordless conversation only years of familiarity could bring. A few moments deliberation and they turned back, smiles turned ice cold.

"You're right," Phoebe said, seriously, "We don't trust you."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**11:50**

Chris woke to the painfully familiar sight of the Manor's sitting room and groaned. Seriously? This was... well, heaven or hell, wherever he was supposed to go. Either way, it was kinda lame. Or maybe that was the point, he realized. He'd done some pretty horrible things in the name of his mission, maybe this was the payback. In death he had to stay in the goddamn manor and second guess himself for the rest of eternity.

Oo...these hell guys _were_ good.

Chris rolled over and gaged the room. Everything was as it should be, a place for everything and everything in its place, as it were. All except one thing. The Witchlighter's eyes fell on a book on the floor, sticking out like the metaphorical sore thumb.

A French book? He stared at it blanky.

His punishment was to sit in a hell shaped like his childhood home and learn French?

Oh this was bullshit. He did not go back into the past and freaking die at the hands of some deranged Elder to _learn goddamn French._

"Oh, geeze, Chris," A voice called over his shoulder and he felt someone pushing him down, "Lay down, you barely have any blood left, don't go sloshing it around too much."

He looked up at a woman a few years younger than him, brown haired, green eyed, fussy as all hell it seemed.

Melinda...

and then it all came rushing back. Two sets of memories abruptly split making him grab at his temples in pain. The world seemed to seemed to separate and scramble, swirling around like a maniacal kaleidescope. He felt his mind fraying at the edges, every emotion vying for attention all at once. Eventually it slowed, his mind separating into two sides.

...and then the world made /so much sense/.

All the moments of intuition. All the times he'd opened up a book and realized he'd read it before. All the random demons or people who did double takes at him as of late. The consistent and repeated Deja Vu... He tried to fit the feeling into words, try to explain to Melinda that he's succeeded. Holy crap, he'd _succeeded._

All he could muster was, "Oh."

Mel looked at him, convinced he'd gotten brain damaged, "Oh?"

A wide grin split his face and he reached out and placed a kiss on her forehead, "You have _no_ idea."

"Ew. Got that right, cause, what the hell--Heey, sit back down!" She swiped at her forehead childishly and reached out to catch her brother as he made an attempt to stand up. The minute he tried to put weight on his legs they decided they didn't want to cooperate anymore and crumpled under him.

"Woah, there, buster," Melinda struggled to keep the substantially taller Halliwell upright. It didn't help that he looked absolutely deranged right then, enough that she was starting to suspect some kind of demonic possession instead of brain damage... her brother _never_ smiled this much.

Chris sank back into the cushions, and covered his face briefly with his hands. It all just felt so surreal, having two lives at the same time. Like he could jump back and forth between them, as soon as he'd concentrate on one set of memories the others would take a back seat, sinking into a comfortable hazy dream state until he needed them again.

Even as the happiness of having succeeded, he reached for the old memories and recoiled and shivered. All of them were bustling forward, demanding attention, demanding to be acknowledged and processed. Every death, every betrayal, all wanting to come to the surface.

He felt like he was going crazy, the memories blurring together uncomfortably, making him feel like every death had occurred again. Desperately, he reached for the comfortably numb part of his brain he'd inhabited for a good portion of his past life, and felt the memories sink back to the edge of his mind, waiting to ambush him should he slip.

He opened his eyes, images of blood and scorched cities still on the back of his eyelids, and lurched forward, attempting to stand up again. He fared better this time, ignoring Mel's annoyed protests.

"Where is everyone?" He asked her finally.

Melinda frowned, "Attic, of course, keeping an eye on the crazy lady."

"Crazy lady?" Chris frowned, trying to grasp at the right memories without calling any of the old ones up. Finally, one snapped into place, "You mean _Bianca?_ Bianca's here?"

Even as he said her name he regretted it. The memory of last time he'd seen her in the attic slapped him in the face, a piece of jagged wood through her stomach and a bare few moments left to live.

"Yeah, what's the deal with her anyway. Why are you hanging out with someone who can shimmer?" Melinda stood up next to him and put an arm around his waist to steady him. He barely acknowledged her and just pressed a hand to his forehead again, "Chris... I hate to sound redundant but are you alright?"

Her brother winced for a second then sighed as whatever was bothering him seemed to fade, "Fine... or I will be as soon as I get to the attic."

Melinda pulled his arm around her shoulder with a sigh and pulled him toward the stairs, "I'd say no, you understand, but you wouldn't listen anyway."

Chris cracked a weary smile, "Smart girl."

They took a single step and immediately stopped, both very confused.

"Was I the only one who felt the floor shake?" Chris asked.

"Nnope..." Mel replied.

"Joy."

The tremors started again, sending the both of them clamoring to grab onto the railing of the stairs. The chandelier rattled above them loudly, the various pictures and decorations on the walls swinging dangerously. Just as a lamp skittered its way across the side table and was sent crashing downward, it stopped.

...as a matter of fact everything stopped. In mid air.

"Oo, that's not natural," Mel pointed mouth hanging open. She remembered her father's words quickly and grabbed onto Chris, performing her world famous disappearing act, covering them both in an illusion that looked precisely like what was behind them.

The house was completely silent for a moment, the lamp hanging in mid air in a way that would have been unsettling to anyone who hadn't grown up with something similar. This, though, this wasn't Piper's doing. They had no doubts their mother was, next to Wyatt, one of the most powerful witches out there, but she wasn't capable of stopping an earthquake...

So the two waited, minimizing their breathing and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

...and the other shoe anticlimactically walked right through the front door.

The newcomer wasn't intimidating. He was short, sharp, and pale in a very sickly way, hair thin and scraggly. Most demons they had to fight at least made some sort of magnificent entrance. This man seemed to be okay with just... shuffling inside on tiny, timid steps.

Chris recognized him instantly, jaw dropping. The guy from the library. He got a nearly irresistible urge to slap himself in the forehead and promise never to be rude to anyone ever again. If he could start and/or stop earthquakes, god knew what they were going to be dealing with and he'd gone out of his way to piss the guy off.

The pale man shuffled in, careful to politely close the door before he entered further, looking around like a tourist. He spotted the lamp and halted, reaching out like he wasn't in control of his own arms and put the lamp back in its place. The thundering sound of footsteps on the stairs signaled the entrance of the other Halliwells.

"Woah!" Piper's hands immediately popped up and attempted to freeze the man. It didn't work. She tried it twice again when it didn't work and then glared at her hands. The Pale Man stared at her and tilted his head to the side.

"Molecular manipulation is so limited." He said placidly, not intimidated in the least by the sight of them all glaring at him.

"Oh-ho," Piper raised her hands again, "I'll show you _limited_ buster, unless you tell me, right now, what you're doing in my house."

The man looked at her as if she were dim, "I'm here to set things right, of course."

"T-minus three seconds to explosion, buddy, be more specific. Set what right?" Piper waved her hands threateningly.

"Why, time, of course." The man frowned, "I'm going to set it back to the way it was."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A/N: Long chapter, gotta say. There wasn't any better place to cut it and I'm kinda making up for the short one last week. For a few notes: Firstly, I'm assuming Paige picked up a few more whitelighter powers in the gig, healing being the big one, I'm also going to say she can heal from greater distances thanks to TK. Yay for her.

Lastly: The problem with future fics is that there's a such a huge cast to deal with and you know so little about most of them that, no matter how you spin it, they're practically OC's anyway. I've just been trying to concentrate on Piper's kids, though I _do _know... a good deal about the other six. So I guess my question is, now that you've seen a bit more of Mel at least. What do you think of her? Her personality is pretty close to Grams's with Piper's sorta-kinda aversion to magic and just wanting the normal life gig... y'know with some quirks tossed in there. I always feel so icky about OC's and I just want to give the poor brothers a good sister. Soooo... Comments?

Anyway, thank you all oodles for the reviews last time. Sometimes I just feel like such a poser when I write and getting feedback helps incredibly. There's nothing that spurs on writing like a review.


	5. Wibbly Wobbly, Timey Wimey

Disclaimer: Not mine... not quite sure who owns it these days, but more power to them.

Grab a sandwich cause this one is a doozy. Also prepare for Emo!Chris. Don't worry, he gets over it.

**Chapter Five: Wibbly Wobbly, Timey Wimey.**

**November 16th, 2020. Unchanged Future.**

Chris never thought he'd see the day when the Whitelighters gave up on the world... but it seemed appropriate that they'd do it on his birthday.

He'd grown accustomed to the background noise that was the whitelighter chatter, even dared to like it sometimes, when he gave in to a moment of nostalgia. He could remember that feeling comforting him to sleep on the bad nights when his mother would be out fighting demons or when Leo took Wyatt off for special twice blessed meetings. He'd convinced himself that the feeling was his father, watching over him even if he couldn't spare the time to be there.

What a load of crap that was.

That hum was nothing more than a small inlet of the overworld version of the collective unconscious. A joining of minds no more meaningful than a handful of people who happened to be waiting at the same bus stop.

If Leo had actually made any point of reaching beyond that base connection, even spared a glance once in a while, the Elders would have taken Wyatt seriously when they had a chance. They would have bound Wyatt's powers the minute he started letting demons live without explanation. When he started muttering to himself about power. When his first charge died.... When their mother was murdered by a suspiciously well informed and all too prepared demon. When Wyatt didn't respond to Chris' calls as she quietly bled out on the floor... When Wyatt finally showed up with a nearly insane grin on his face...When Wyatt had locked Chris in the basement for six months until he "came to his senses."

It took a whole year for them to take Wyatt as a serious threat, and by that time he'd already killed the Cleaners and outed magic to the whole world.

The new witch hunt followed after that, starting right in the heart of San Francisco. The mortal hunters teamed up with Wyatt's demons and witches to wipe out any and all witches who refused to give up the "old ways" as Wyatt had dubbed them. The fringe covens went first, then the larger families.

Eventually, he and Wyatt were the only Halliwells left.

...and only _then_, did the Elders get concerned. Chris had heard whispers over the connection. Whispers of horror and alarm. Deliberating, constantly deliberating never deciding, on what to do.

They whispered the word back and forth between each other, wondering if they could do it. Vanquish him, they said. But who was left to do it? All of the witches, their pawns, were dead. They didn't even know where to start.

Unfortunately for them, Wyatt could hear them too... and _he_ knew exactly where to start.

If Chris knew anything of Wyatt, and he felt he was the only one left who did, the Twice-Blessed wouldn't allow the threat to loom. He'd act. Violently.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when that connection abruptly and brutally snapped, dropping the world into utter silence. He should have been prepared for the eventuality. Yet he wasn't.

The silence was excruciating.

The 16-year-old half Whitelighter collapsed to his knees into the dusty remains of a library, dragging his fingers across the remaining brick wall in a bid to keep standing. He felt the dirty mortar ripping into his hand but the pain just blended into the paralyzing ache.

"Jesus Christ, kid! You alright?" A voice, dimly familiar, drew him out of the silence, forcing him to quickly adapt to the sudden empty spot inside of him.

"Was he hit?" A old female voice chipped in, cracked from years of smoking, "We gotta keep moving if we want to make it to the bridge by sundown."

"I'm, eugh..." Chris attempted but ended on a graceless grunt as he attempted to push himself up the wall.

An hand dropped on his shoulder, dark skinned and sympathetic. Chris traced it back up to the owner, a middle aged man named Marco. Two others stood behind him, an elderly woman and her emaciated godson, barely out of college.

Chris forced himself to connect with them, even as the damned blackness of loss sucked at his shoelaces. They were his companions du jour. Just people he'd ran into and traveled with for a time as they attempted to get out of San Francisco as fast as they could. He hadn't asked about them and they returned the favor. Though their dinner conversation had made their view on magical beings brutally clear. Chris didn't let it get to him, he was used to it.

Those who accepted Wyatt's rule believed that if magical creatures couldn't be controlled and regulated, they were to be hunted down. Those who didn't accept Wyatt's rule hated magic just as much, blaming them in entirety as being responsible for their current situation.

Chris had learned to lie early on. Now he was Chris Perry, a good old naturally unmagical American boy. He didn't even know the difference between an athame and a butter knife and couldn't rhyme if someone bought him a thesaurus. Nothing to see here, move along.

"Hey, Perry, speak up boy!" Marco rattled his shoulder again even as Chris slid back down the wall. He'd sunk back into that blackness where his whitelighter senses had been, drawn in again by a shimmer of something. He mentally reached for it, desperate for any connection at the moment.

It was a very, very bad idea.

Just as soon as he made the connection, he jumped back from it, both mentally and physically, scratching across the wall in his haste to get out of the place he'd been in.

"Run." He breathed out the word.

How could he be so stupid?! Who was the only whitelighter still on this plane?

Marco stared at him, confused, but sympathetic, "C'mon kid, we should get you some rest."

"No!" Chris shoved him away as the older man reached out to help him up, sending the older man tumbling back. "You don't understand. Leave now."

The three mortals traded looks quickly, weighing the possibility of him being crazy versus actually surviving some kind of attack. After a beat, they took off in random directions, scuffling across loose rock. They weren't nearly quick enough.

The demons shimmered in, circling them in perfect military fashion.

"Well this was something of a pick me up," Wyatt called as the black orbs receded, leaving him standing just ahead of them. Chris noted, even as he tried to figure out some kind of exit, that Wyatt seemed to be beaten up worse than he'd seen in a long time.

He had to struggle down any long since used fraternal worry for him, waiting to ambush him and keep him from thinking straight. It'd been years and he still had troubles differentiating the Wyatt from his memories with the current, tyrannical version.

Marco and the other runners skittered back closer to him, trying to put as much space between themselves and the eldest Halliwell. They hit the brick wall next to him and stuck, seeing no way out.

"Well?" Wyatt raised his arms and smiled as if asking for a hug, "What, nothing? Nothing at all for your favorite brother? Come now, Chris. It hasn't been that long."

Chris felt the other's eyes on him, brains slowly connecting the dots, already aware that their stares had turned to animalistic stares of betrayal. He barely felt the loss. It was just three more drops in the bucket.

He pushed himself straighter and sent Wyatt a glare that would have killed a lower level demon, "What did you do?"

Wyatt tipped his head and looked down at himself, blood and bruises everywhere. He didn't seem concerned in the slightest. "You mean this? Just a little fight."

"A little fight?" Chris yelled, unbelieving, "You killed them all! I can't sense any of them!"

A flicker of annoyance graced Wyatt's face before melting into something so much more devious.

"I didn't kill them...all." Wyatt said deliberately, "They chose to cut themselves off. To leave us lowly earth dwellers on our own."

Chris felt it like a punch in the gut, "You're lying. They wouldn't abandon us."

Wyatt's face was stone still, "It was dad's choice."

Chris shook his head forcefully, not capable of coming up with a good argument. They wouldn't do that. Leo wouldn't do that. He might have been neglectful but he was never cruel. He wouldn't leave a whole world to suffer like that.

"He didn't even ask about you." Wyatt continued, running his own glowing hands down his arms, healing himself. Another perk of being the Twice Blessed. He turned his attention back to his brother, twisting the knife, "This is what I've always tried to tell you, Chris. Leo was never a good father to you because he was so absorbed with that idiotic neverending Good vs. Evil war. This is what I'm trying to prevent. The war has ended. No more good. No more evil. Just existence."

"...and power." Chris finished, sagging against the wall.

"And power." Wyatt nodded.

"What do you want from me, Wyatt?" Chris looked up, feeling suddenly boneless.

Wyatt just shook his head lightly, "I just want to bring my brother home."

For the first time in years, with the ache of the realization that everyone he loved was dead or gone, Chris felt himself breaking down. Would it be so bad, just to go back where he could be Christopher Halliwell again and not just poor defenseless Chris Perry? Where he could be with the one person he had left? Loved in whatever twisted way Wyatt could offer anymore...

"Chris," Wyatt reached out a hand, "That's all I want. Let's just go home. I need you."

Liar... but what choice did he have?

Chris stared up, eyes focused steadily on Wyatt's.

"Let them go first."

Wyatt seemed to consider for a moment before nodding and again, pushing out his open hand. In a moment he'd blame on temporary insanity later, Chris took it. As the orbs took them away, Chris caught the edge of the demon's orders.

"Kill them."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**November 16th, 2027. 12:00**

The dread in Chris's stomach turned into quicksilver rage.

_"Why, time, of course."_ he'd said, like it was the simplest thing in the world, _"And I'm going to set it back to the way it was."_

"Over my dead body." He practically growled the words, and lashed out with all the power in his possession, supplementing his lack of energy with the white hot rage that had curled itself around his spine. The man shot across the foyer like a bullet, pinned to the wall so hard the wood bowed dangerously against the pressure.

...and then the man had the gall to laugh. At least that was what it sounded like. His face was smashed against the wall only allowing the sound out in sharp squeaks.

"What do you find so funny?" Chris deadpanned, glaring.

"Puh--" The man squeaked out, still giggling, "Poor choice of words."

Chris pressed him harder in retaliation, "Weird, I don't seem to like your humor."

In a split second, he was there, the next he wasn't, setting Chris drastically off balance as he appeared in front of him again. That weird tense feeling in the air warned him just as the man's outstretched fingers nearly reached him, making his heart jump in his throat.

He didn't want to know what would happen if that man found skin contact, but he didn't want to try it out.

In the spare second between contact Chris used his telekinesis to push himself back and out of reach, skidding him backwards roughly into a wall.

The pale man stared, confused, hand still outstretched.

"How did you do that?"

Chris shrugged, "Talent?"

The man's eyes narrowed, "Perhaps."

"Alright, fine," Chris pushed himself up against the wall, limbs feeling heavier by the moment, "So I get you don't like me. Whatever. Could we cut to the why, please?"

The man hunched, looking as annoyed as his face would allow, "You changed what should have not been changed." He spoke, irritated, "It must be set back. This place, these people are pieces, out of place. You, though, you are the hinge of two times. You are the dead walking."

He pointed rigidly at him, "I fix that. I fix it all."

Chris did not like the sound of any of that.

...come to think of it, he couldn't hear much at all.

Not the ambient sounds of the world, not the neighbors clamoring over their hedges to see what the newest disturbance was, not the elders whispering up a storm in the back of his head... not his family.

Chris looked over in a rush, eyes widening as he saw his family all frozen, mid step, angry looks on their faces as they stared at the place the pale man had been standing in moments before.

"...freezing doesn't stop Witches." Chris said aloud.

"Chronokinesis does." The man supplied, voice edging on proud.

"and yet it didn't stop me..." Chris added, regarding the man suspiciously.

The man's eye twitched.

"Perhaps I should go about this another way," He said finally, "I have twelve hours. If one can't get at the hinge... perhaps they should attack the door."

Chris snorted, "You should really find a better metaphor."

"It won't matter in a few hours anyway." The man bowed shortly and the air thinned again, taking away the tense feeling Chris hadn't even realized was still there. In the space of a blink, the man was gone, leaving Chris leaning heavily against the wall and the rest of the Halliwells looking around the room for him, utterly confused.

Piper gaped, fingers pointing vaguely between the empty space she'd last seen her son in and where he now was.

"What the hell was that?!" She barked out eventually.

Chris just sighed and sunk back down the wall, "_That_, was a future consequence."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The man hadn't been expected a challenge.

He hadn't had one in so long, he almost didn't know how to react. He depended so much on his magic that he'd never even attempted an honest fight before. He didn't know why the _meddler_ was immune and he didn't have the time to care. What he did know was that, that it was highly unlikely he'd win a fight against the witch.

If he continued on his usual course, he'd most likely be injured... and he didn't want that at all.

The man paused, mid-thought as he felt time shiver. It was unstable, unsure. He could sympathize. He'd have to keep his powers to a minimum until the witching hour, and no more transporting, the last time had nearly caused a full on earthquake.

He'd have to do all this the old fashioned way.

The man closed his eyes and felt out the turns of time, tracing mental fingers along the lines until they traced back to what he was looking for.

The Halliwells were the first that came to his attention, but he quickly disregarded that idea. Too dangerous and too little of a payoff.

He searched again. Someone out of the way. Someone unsuspecting, but influential.

He stopped and smiled thinly. There. A whole group.

If he set that many souls back on course, time would have no choice but to reset itself. He sensed their prior destinies, and found what he was looking for instantly.

They were all supposed to be dead.

Years ago, he would have felt pity for them. He wasn't slowed by that inconvenience anymore. With a renewed sense of purpose, the man set his course.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**12:15**

"You can't keep ignoring me."

Piper looked up at the dark haired Phoenix, securely wrapped in a crystal cage, with a look that was so beyond sarcasm it was scary.

"This is my house, and I can do whatever I want in it." Piper informed her, voice so calm it was almost friendly. Friendly, that was, until she made a point to scoot a bright purple vanquishing potion in Bianca's view.

It was only Bianca's considerable pride that kept her from skittering back like a spooked animal. Despite Piper's obvious maternal charm that made her a natural Halliwell matriarch, Bianca found her scarier than anyone or thing she'd ever met.

"I thought you said you wouldn't kill me." Bianca said carefully, eyes caught on the small vial.

Piper nodded, closing up a box containing several dozen potion vials. Their emergency, do it all kit, for those occasions where you just didn't know what you were dealing with. Which they very much didn't at this point as the book had come up with nil on their pale stranger.

The eldest remaining Halliwell rolled her gaze over at the Phoenix, brown eyes calculating, "I said we weren't going to jump to any conclusions. That doesn't mean I trust you."

"You don't trust me? Fine. Trust Chris." Bianca said bitterly, "Just talk to him for a second, he'll tell you I'm not going to hurt anyone."

Piper paused, mouth turning downward slightly, "Chris doesn't know you as well as he thinks." She barely spared Bianca another glance as she tied off the last two bags. Then, as if she hadn't said anything mildly weird, Piper flashed a winning smile, told Bianca to make herself comfortable, and left.

Bianca just stood there, stewing in her frustration for a minute. Her fingers twitched at her sides, carefully guided emotions coursing through her veins. She was surprised at herself. A full fledged Phoenix had no emotion. Bianca liked to pretend she was full fledged sometimes, but that emotionless had always been her downfall. She'd never been able to cap those feelings off, and right then, she was feeling some things she'd much rather do that with.

She'd expect to be angry, scared perhaps, and she was, but there was an undercurrent to it all. She was disappointed in Piper... and incredibly discouraged. She and Chris were depending on the assumption that the Halliwells would be more accepting. If this was what the easier half of the equation was going to be like, the other half would likely be murder and then their whole plan was shot to hell.

Bianca let out a long calm breath and closed her eyes, "Chris," she said to thin air, "A word?"

She never thought she'd see the sight of someone orbing reluctantly, but that was sure what it looked like. The blue lights were sluggish, coalescing into her boyfriend and he looked way worse for the wear. He met her eyes for a second before he quickly wrenched his head to the side, as if burned by the sight.

Bianca just watched, out of her depth, as he seemed to struggle with himself, gradually bringing himself to look back over at her. He let out a tense breath, letting the tension seep out of him before he gestured quickly and sent one of the crystals skidding out of formation breaking the cage with an electrical jolt.

Bianca stepped over the threshold hesitantly, stepping up in front of him, trying to intuit what exact had him so out of character. She didn't get a chance, because as soon as she was within arms reach Chris tugged her into a spine tinglingly deep kiss. When he finally pulled back, her eyelids fluttered girlishly, despite her every intent of being serious for the next few minutes.

"That," Chris said after a second, leaning his forehead against her, "Was for saving my life."

"In that case, I don't even think that half covers it." She raised an eyebrow in mock indignation..

Chris grinned and ducked down for another quick kiss, "As much as I'd love to. I'd rather not have to worry about my mother having any small chance of walking in."

"Probably a good idea," Bianca rolled her eyes, "It'd be awkward when she comes back to vanquish me."

Chris snorted a quick laugh, "She isn't going to vanquish you."

"She made a potion." Bianca glared up at him, half serious.

"Don't take it personal. She has one for everything." He shifted a bit and looked at the vial still sitting conspicuously on the table. With a slight look of annoyance, he waved a hand and orbed the potion into the grand canyon where it smashed pleasantly on the rocks below.

"Better?" He added.

Bianca faked considering it, "Hm. The air of doom seems to have lifted somewhat..."

"Yeah," Chris smirked, "Don't get used to that in this house."

Both of them tensed and broke apart as the thumping sounds of footsteps on the stairs reverberated through the floor. Bianca almost laughed at the automatic reflex. The secrecy seemed kind of futile now, their secret was pretty much out as soon as someone took the time to look hard enough. Still, it didn't stop them from waiting silently to make sure no one walked in.

A few anticlimactic moments later, the two relaxed.

"I have to go," Chris sighed eventually, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead before he turned back to her. He remained silent for a second, choosing his words carefully, "If you see anyone other than Mel or Wyatt... Just, be careful. Don't underestimate _anyone_."

Bianca frowned, able to read more into his words. Chris had always seemed to know that well wishes were more of an insult than anything, and he only used for times when he thought it was needed. He knew full well what she was capable of, and the fact that he felt the need to say it... well, it just wasn't a good sign. Suddenly she didn't like the idea of letting him out of her sight.

Instead, she just set her jaw and nodded slowly, "You too."

Chris stepped in and caught her lips again for a deep, bittersweet kiss, fingers whispering across her jaw for a breathless moment before he forced himself to step away.

"If you need me..."

"I'll call." Bianca finished his sentence sarcastically, shoving him lightly, "Go and be a good guy already. Don't know why you're being so dramatic."

Chris just rolled his eyes and orbed out. The minute he did, Bianca sighed, the smile fell off her face. She looked around on the floor until her eyes caught on the wayward cage crystal, picking it up.

"Back to captivity..." She sighed and stepped back into the circle and gingerly dropped the offending crystal back into its spot. Once again locked in a four foot diameter circle, Bianca felt suddenly martyred. She rolled her shoulders and eventually settled down on the floor.

Across the room, silent and wrapped in her own illusion of invisibility, Melinda Halliwell was feeling very... _very_ confused.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**1:00pm**

"I can't do this." Leo slammed the cover on his book shut and shoved it across the table, wedging it between his inbox of term letters and nudged an old picture frame holding the entire crowd that was the current Halliwell family. It had taken them sixteen attempts to keep everyone from blinking and then another three to realize Patricia had wandered off to play with her new puppy. Leo reflexively straighted the frame out and scooted it closer to the others.

"Don't let your students hear that." Phoebe smirked and flipped a page

Leo stared at her a second, the comment taking a second to register, "What? Oh! No. Not researching." He hurriedly commented before sinking back down into his chair, "It's not that, it's... well, you know."

Phoebe quirked an eyebrow.

"Chris..." Leo finished lamely.

"Ah, yeah. That." Phoebe nodded sagely, closing the book in front of her around a bookmark in favor of staring wistfully at the ceiling.

"He remembers, you know."

Phoebe tried really hard not to lurch from her chair in surprise, so it turned out as more of a half hearted jerk, "He told you?"

Leo just shook his head, "No, but I can tell."

They didn't need to say the words to know how true that was. Phoebe didn't even need her empathy to see it. She would know the difference from the very first time that guarded expression dropped on to his face, closing off any hint at the depth of emotion in him and replacing it with pure and bitter business.

The silence dragged, research forgotten.

"Have you..." Leo asked abruptly.

"What?"

He shrugged, and made a gesture at his head in a vague hint at her empathy powers, "_Looked?_"

Phoebe squinted at him suspiciously. It had been a long time since Leo had ever condoned using her empathy on a family member. Phoebe didn't even use it on her own daughters. There lied a fast track to insanity. Leo was usually the very first to understand that. He was the only one who'd had anything similar, back when he was a whitelighter. Privacy meant a lot, and he was the last to try to get around it.

Leo shifted in his seat uneasily, sensing her line of thoughts, "It's just," He sighed deeply, "He hasn't said a word to any of us, hasn't looked at me or Piper in the eye. Well, you know how he can be when he gets upset."

"He bottles it up," Phoebe nodded, getting where he was going with this. "You think he's mad at you."

Leo just nodded glumly. It'd been a major point of worry in the household about what they were going to tell everyone about Chris's little escapades through time. After many, many debates they decided that it was all or nothing, and since they didn't fancy the idea of telling Wyatt he was the ruler of all evil, it would just have to be nothing.

It had been the only secret Phoebe had ever managed to keep a lid on in her whole life, not that she hadn't _really_ wanted to spill it. The only thing that had kept her from it was how Chris would probably react when he found out. She had a feeling he'd be _livid._ The kid had enough issues growing up and she didn't feel like being the cause of more of them.

The door of the office opened and the two adults jumped like they'd been caught at digging through papers at Watergate. Chris stood in the doorway, another stack of books in his arms and a suspicious look on his face he could only have learned from Piper. His eyes danced between the two of them for a second before he slipped to the side and deposited the new books on the table.

"No, I'm not." He said without explanation.

"No, what?" Leo tensed, knowing exactly how hard it was to get through to Chris when he was angry.

Instead, Chris just rolled his eyes, "No, I'm not mad at you for not telling me. If I'd had the forethought I would have told you to keep it from me in the first place. Believe me, I'd rather have not known."

Leo practically melted into his chair in relief. Phoebe wasn't quite so convinced. Her psychologist senses were tingling something awful. As much as the boy said he wasn't mad, he was lying though his teeth. She slid the book off her lap and sidled over to him, watching him shift books in to piles, movements sharp and annoyed.

"Honey," She patted his arm soothingly, "You want to talk about something?"

Chris slammed a book down noisily, "Not really."

"It'll make you feel better!" Phoebe pressed.

"I'm fine."

"Really? You look kinda mad..."

"No kidding," Chris glared, dropping the last ancient looking book in place, "Why would I be mad? I don't know, the fact that I thought I was done with this? That I'd finally achieved something I thought worth dying for, and let me tell you, dying is _not _fun. Now some freak of a demon walks in and gets the idea to _reset things? _Great! No reason to be mad about that! Oh, and did I mention that these memories are giving me _the _biggest headache I've had in either of my lives not to mention it keeps making me see some _really _messed up stuff when I look at any of you guys. You want to try to explain to Wyatt why I can't look him in the eye? If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them cause I have no fucking clue."

Chris forcibly snapped his jaw shut and glared at the far corner of the room letting the room soak in the awkward silence.

"That really..." Leo started, slightly shocked.

"Sucks? Yeah." Chris shrugged sharply, he looked over at his family and rubbed a thumb across his forehead, attempting to push the headache back. "I just... I can't let it go back to the way it was. I don't think I could bear it, not after I know how it could be."

"We won't let it." Phoebe rubbed his arm soothingly, an understanding smile spreading across her face, "We're not starting at square one this time. We know what we're up against and we've got tons more books to work with."

Chris allowed himself a small smile at the mountain of books in front of them, "Yeah, seems like Mrs. Donovan took that Google comment to heart. Now all we have to do is actually read them all."

A dark silence settled on the three of them as they eyed the ridiculously thick tomes Chris had brought in. Time travel was so wobbly of a subject that it could give a person a headache simply by association. Reading about it for hours didn't seem like a pleasant idea for any of them.

Then, as if a light bulb came on over Phoebe's head.

"Google, huh?" She mused, fingers quickly reaching across Leo's desk to grab at a pen and paper. A few quick scratches and four lines later, the middle Charmed sister was looking decidedly smug.

"Phoebe, personal gain..." Leo said warningly.

"Hey!" She flicked the pen at him dangerously, "I want to keep this life just as much as Chris does and every second that guy is out there is another second this whole thing could go to hell in a hand basket... Besides, it only a little bit of personal gain." She tossed a look at Chris for backup and he simply shrugged. He'd said his piece on the subject. Leo merely let out a small worried sound before putting his hands up in defeat.

Phoebe grinned, pleased, and straightened out the paper to read.

"Uncover truth that which once was lost

Discover what must be found

On ships of knowledge memory tossed

Contained in pages bound."

Chris crossed his arms, amused, "Been taking poetry classes?"

"You like it?" Phoebe grinned girlishly, before casting about the room expectantly. None of the books shifted, not even a single page flip. The two boys pinned her with expectant stares. Phoebe wilted, "Okay, so it didn't work."

Right then a book shot right through Leo's office door, sending oak chips flying like dangerous splintery confetti before the tome connected solidly with Phoebe's stomach, knocking her clean off her feet.

Chris tried, very very hard not to grin, but inevitably failed. He and Leo moved from their spots to stand over the downed Charmed One, book sitting harmlessly on her chest. Phoebe merely grunted shortly.

"Personal gain." Leo said unhelpfully. Phoebe chucked the book at him in response.

Chris tugged on Phoebe's waving hand, pulling her to her feet slowly, "I thought you got all the time travel books!" She winced.

"I did," He shrugged, "I pulled every book in that section."

"Well, ya missed one," She rubbed her stomach sorely, letting go of her nephew in favor of her own footing. As soon as she did, Leo's pulled her over next to him, forcing the book back into her hands.

"Look," Leo pointed, voice thin.

Phoebe looked at him, confused, opening up the plain cover to the first page... and nearly dropped the book.

"Oh oh oh!" Phoebe danced in her spot like a five year old who refused to use her words. "Chris!"

"What now?" Chris sighed.

"You," Phoebe pointed again and then held up the book for him, "Look, look, look."

Chris stared at her like she'd gone insane but eventually his yes focused on the small print.

"What in the..."

There, in plain letters on the first page.

_'Chronokinetics. By Christopher P. Halliwell.'_

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A/N: First off, to any reviewer who didn't get a response, I blame ffdotnet for not forwarding them to me. Now I can't remember if I responded to who or not and that's _terrible. _So! I deeply apologize for not responding to you if I didn't, if I did...well, sweet.

Also, nope, you did not miss something. I took the week off last week to concentrate on finals. I could have attempted to throw something together in time but it would not have been fair to you guys or to the teams in my classes. Good news is I finished both the films I was working on (one animation and one actual film) and am free for...uh, just this week. So, horray.

Lastly, the credit for that spell rests solely on my dear friend Kat Morning to which I am a mere poser in comparison. Seriously, go look up her stuff, she's here on ffdotnet.

In retribution for the missing week, the next couple chapters are gonna be crazy long. Lots to say and so little time to say it. Cheers y'all! And please, please keep the reviews a'coming they make my day so happy you have no idea.


	6. Promise

Disclaimer: Blah blah. Not mine!

Chapter Six: Promise

**November 16th, 2003. Unchanged Future.**

Chris woke up with a jolt, arms reflexively snapping out to protect himself. Instead all they did was nearly shove him to the dusty floor of P3's back office and his shelter for the moment. In the dim, secondhand light of the club, it took him all the longer to claw his way back to reality. The reality of where and more importantly _when _he was. It was only a moment longer before the default bittersweet feeling descended over him.

It never got easier. He would have thought the months he'd spent in this time would have put some emotional distance between the horrors of his home. You would think... and still. He woke up every single day expecting to open his eyes to some rubble clogged dugout, some halfway fallen in building, terrified awake by the sound of magically augmented drones clawing at the walls. Eventually his brain would catch up and the images of dust clogged holes were replaced with cheap promotional posters and paperwork. The sounds of drones became nothing more then the janitor scraping furniture across the floor.

When he'd first arrived in the past, that realization that he wasn't there anymore, that he didn't have to worry about all that... it was the single most freeing thing he'd ever experienced. He'd wake up each day invigorated and smiling, thinking that this was the day he'd stop it. This was the day he'd find the one responsible, and he'd never have to go back to that again.

Day by day, though, the feeling wore thin. Every hour that ticked away without finding a scrap of good information was another ten pounds of anxiety squeezing the hope out of him. Every hour lost was a narrowing of the time between the bright world he had the luck to be in and the dark future that it would become. He began to dread that feeling he'd get when he woke up. Like the universe was taunting him.

...and then Bianca had died. Now the best thing about his day was the confusion of waking up. Because now, every time he woke up and thought he was in the past, at least he thought she was alive, if only for a moment.

Chris lied there numbly, reclosing his eyes again and steeling his thoughts. He didn't dare mourn her, that would mean he'd given up. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she'd kick his ass if he even thought of doing that. He had to remind himself that she wasn't really dead if he just changed everything. Someday in this new, brighter, future, he'd get another chance with her. He just had to believe he could do it.

Some days it was just so damn hard.

He recognized the weakness as it took over and he didn't have the strength to even put up a fight. All he wanted right then was to see her again, he didn't think he could wait another 20 odd years even _if _he got the chance. Dreams and nightmares still clinging heavily on his mind, Chris reached out with his whitelighter senses, searching out the presence that had always seemed to be there, ever since he first met her. He expected the empty blackness... but what he did feel made his eyes snap open.

Bianca was alive...

He was orbing before he even gave it a proper thought, rematerializing in the blinding daylight of the outdoors. Chris winced, tossing a protective hand up over his eyes, peering through the gaps in his fingers and waiting for the scene to take focus.

It was a playground. He shouldn't be here.

Chris's mind barely had a second to catch up before he noticed the uncomfortable shift in the air signaling someone shimmering behind him. The shallow prick of a blade was at his back a bare moment later.

"What are you doing here?" A crisp voice asked, dark and deadly cold. Chris dared a look back, catching sight of a blonde head of hair and a face he'd only seen in pictures.

"Lynn." Chris muttered in realization, almost forgetting about the athame at his back. Lynn fixed that by pressing the athame a fraction farther in, the tip slicing the material of his shirt.

Chris looked around at the nearly abandoned playground, surprised that she was being so forward with her threats. He soon realized why. The place was neatly fenced in by privacy fences and tall bushes, the only intruders on the obviously well protected space were a group of children playing across a stretch of grass, totally oblivious.

"Answer the question." Lynn stated coldly, "Why are you here?"

"I don't know." Chris answered honestly, almost bitter.

"Bad answer."

Chris lurched forward before she could plant the athame in his back and whirled around, "Look! I just thought someone was here. I was wrong, alright?"

And he knew it. He was wrong to be here. He'd come chasing a ghost on some drowsy, lovesick hope that Bianca had achieved the impossible. Instead, he was meddling with the past again, he should just orb out and be done with it. Still, there was that tug in the back of his head. She was here... somewhere across that field. He kept his eyes firmly focused on Lynn.

Lynn stared at him placidly, "Bianca...you're looking for Bianca."

Chris just set his jaw.

"What is she to you?" The Phoenix pressed, deciding his silence was answer enough.

"Nothing," Chris lied that time, "This was a mistake." He stepped back, hesitating in his orb just long enough to give Lynn a chance. Her hand came down on his shoulder in a split second. She stared him down, eyes intense.

"I saw you two," She said eventually, "You were in my apartment. I saw how you looked at each other. She came back from the future for you. She didn't kill you, although she obviously should have. Don't _lie_ to me boy. She wouldn't tell me, but I am no idiot. That was far from nothing."

Chris tensed, something in the edge of Lynn's voice hitting a familiar chord, and it only took a minute to decode it. Like mother, like daughter. She was just like Bianca, putting up a facade of complete infallible deadliness to cover up something else.

Lynn was afraid.

The Phoenix read Chris' expression easily and dropped all pretense. She asked the thing she'd wanted to know since she saw him appear.

"Is she alive?"

Chris's reaction said it all, and the Phoenix slackened just enough to allow him to step a safe distance away. He should leave and, yet again, he couldn't. There, standing in front of him was the only other person in existence who could possibly understand how he'd felt that past week. The sisters tried, they really did, but they were still under the impression that Bianca had died evil. He'd never bothered to correct them simply because he didn't want to relive it.

Lynn's fists balled up and she forced herself to look out at the field. Despite all his effort to the contrary Chris followed her line of site, following that bright sense to where a dark haired girl had stopped mid play to stare at them with sharp eyes.

And that was all it took.

"I'll fix it." A said it and meant it, not because of any new sense of conviction or bravery, but simply because it was true. He didn't have another choice. He didn't flinch at all as Lynn looked at him with newly angered eyes. He met them without fear, inspiration striking him. He buried his hand back in his pocket instinctively, fingers pulling out a small loop of silver. He held it out to Lynn, jaw set. She just stared at it like it was something deadly.

"What is that?" She asked darkly.

"A promise," He said evenly, "She isn't dead. Not yet, and I _will _keep it that way. This is my promise to you and her. It belongs to Bianca and it always will."

Lynn glared at him, but it didn't scare him anymore. Chris knew that she was banking on him being right just as much as he was. As much as it was killing her, this all was out of her hands, and she just had to trust him. That was that.

In a flash, Lynn snatched the ring from his hand and inspected it.

She clucked, "Kind of cheap, isn't it."

Chris choked out a laugh before stepping back and orbing out.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**November 16th 2027, 1:00**

Bianca twisted the ring around her finger, far past the point of trying to stop the long time habit. She prided herself on being in rigid control of most things but she recognized a losing fight when she saw one. It wasn't too bad of an offense anyway. It was the only tell she had, and few people knew how to decode it because she barely understood it herself. It was an instant stress reducer. A few twists to remind her it was there and the world lost its terrifying edge.

Plus it was a nice distraction if someone was say, _spying _on her. Which there very much was.

It was the displacement in the air that made her curious. Something simple as a breeze wafting past where it definitely shouldn't have. That could be easily explained away. She _was _in a drafty attic, random air currents just happened sometimes. Really though, it was the dust motes that tipped her off. Even though she felt the air move around her the glowing bits of dust in the light beams stayed deadly still, not moving to the air currents whatsoever.

It was a telltale sign of an illusion... and a very good one.

Bit by bit, she picked the room apart, trying to find the spots where things didn't _quite _move how they should and narrowed the illusion down to a space that could neatly hold one five foot three witch... and it was hovering daintily over her shoulder, looking at her.

The assassin textbook said very certain things about just such a scenario. Several, actually. Step one usually had something to do with grabbing said spy and step two related to removing vital organs. All very messy, especially when the target in question was invisible. Despite her aptitude at it, she'd never particularly liked killing, as a matter of fact it usually made her feel very, very ill afterwards. Then again... she _really _didn't like snoops.

Once second Bianca was unnaturally still, the next she'd lunged straight in the invisible girl's direction, coming just short of her, eyes unblinkingly staring her down.

Melinda yelped despite herself, the fear bursting the illusion like a soap bubble, colors shimmering all around the room. For a minute, they just stared at each other, neither quite willing to let the other see any apparent weakness whatsoever. Bianca just slowly settled back into a more natural seating position and Melinda casually attempted to cover the fact that she'd nearly ran screaming out of the room to hide behind Wyatt.

"Nice tattoo." Melinda said, forcefully gulping down any unacceptable vocal tremors. Bianca didn't bother to try to cover up the Phoenix birthmark on her wrist. The girl obviously already knew. Instead, she just shrugged.

"Family tradition."

"Hm," Melinda's expression shifted to mock disinterest, "Guess you come from a pretty alternative family, then?"

"You could say that." Bianca deadpanned.

Melinda resisted the urge to gag. As much as she'd ended up going a little left of her own family model, preferring the mortal world, and all the inherent skill in double speak and careful white lies that came with it, she really didn't exactly like the deception. She wasn't the cloak and dagger type, it was just too complicated and twisted for her tastes. She preferred the elegant approach and sometimes... elegant meant that she'd be better served to change tactics.

Time to take a page from Wyatt's book, blunt and honest.

"What do you want from us?"

Bianca's return look was more than a little abrasive, "A chair wouldn't hurt."

"Let me rephrase," Mel pushed, not amused with the older woman, "What do you want from my brother."

Melinda didn't know what she'd expected, but the sudden softening in her expression wasn't it. In that spare second her defenses were completely down. That, or she was a very good actress. The latter being equally possible. Any girl who was good enough to fool Chris would have to be.

Then, just as quickly, they were back up, arrogance taking over every inch of her body, all except the subtle twist of the ring around her finger.

"Mel."

The two women twisted to look at Wyatt, hovering in the doorway with the look of someone who'd been thoroughly snubbed. He sent a meaningful look at his sister and crooked a finger in the direction of the hallway.

Melinda didn't even bother covering up her sigh before she pulled herself up to stand, heels guiding her in Wyatt's direction.

"Don't go anywhere." Wyatt cracked a fake smile at their house guest and tugged the attic door shut soundly behind them. Mel continued past him, getting out of hearing distance before Wyatt caught up. "So? What did you find out."

Mel pinched her lips together, wondering how to go about this. To explain what she'd seen. More importantly, how to keep Wyatt from blowing a twice blessed gasket.

Despite the Sister's explicit orders to leave Bianca to them, Wyatt wasn't about to let a potential demon lurk around behind their backs, especially one he was sure had hurt his brother. In his opinion, you just don't get away with things like that, mother's orders or no.

He'd never believe that Chris would be in a relationship with the woman. Hell, Mel was having a problem believing it.

"What..." Wyatt nudged her in the arm, well aware that she was stalling.

Mel just winced, "Well, she's not a demon."

"Bullshit."

"Really!" Mel cut in, pointing to her wrist, "You know that tattoo? It's actually a birthmark which makes her part of the Phoenix Coven. She's a witch... just a... slightly demon flavored one."

Wyatt frowned, arms crossed, "Demon flavored..."

Mel shrugged grandly.

"Still makes her evil, then, doesn't it?" He nodded, face turning resolute, "I'll go get Excalibur."

"No, no no!" Melinda forcefully grabbed his arm, digging her heels into the floorboards to keep him stationary. Wyatt just turned a confused look at her, seriously considering just dragging her along down the hallway, hooked to his arm.

"What? She's not evil then?" He snapped.

Melinda hesitated a second too long and Wyatt turned back around, pulling her along easily even as she leaned all her weight into stopping him.

"Wyatt! Stop!" She whined, "There's something else!"

The twice blessed rolled his eyes and grudgingly halted. "She's evil! She nearly killed Chris, and she's probably working with that other demon too! I don't see what could matter." Then he turned back in the direction of the attic, done with the conversation.

Mel's heels skidded across the floor and she eyed the carpet bunching up in front of her. Now or never. She tipped her head back and yelped.

"He loves her!"

Wyatt halted, halfway down the hallway, jaw hanging like it wasn't even connected. He turned back, attempted a few word before he stuttered to an awkward, nonsensical end. Mel released his arms, pulling her fingers into a steeple over her mouth.

"At least I think he does." She added lamely, voice muted by her hands. She slid them away nervously. "I mean, it looked that way..."

"Not possible," Wyatt shook his head, "Chris would have... I mean. When would he even have the chance to...He doesn't keep secrets!"

Mel crooked an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. He doesn't keep them from _me._"

The younger Halliwell just watched dumbly as Wyatt paced up and down the hallway, mind obviously racing. Mel couldn't help but do the same. Each trying to reconcile their own images of their brother with this new information.

"It's a spell." Wyatt said abruptly.

Mel shook her head, "It really didn't look like it."

"Fine," Wyatt tossed his hands up, "Then she seduced him."

Mel shuffled back, face scrunching, "First off, ew. Don't ever put those images in my head again. Second, do you really think Chris would fall for that? He's memorized the Book back and forward, he'd have ID-ed that birthmark in a second."

Wyatt glared at the wall.

A large thud and a crash from the attic sent the two of them running down the hallway at breakneck speeds, Wyatt gesturing the door open even before he reached it. They stopped a few feet in, eyes immediately drawn to a crumpled form on the floor, bare inches away from the still trapped Phoenix in her magic cage.

"Let me out!" Bianca practically growled, hands sparking as they touched the electric bubble around her.

Wyatt stood stock still, blocking the doorway and keeping Mel behind him and carefully gaging the situation. The newcomer, a girl probably young enough to still be in high school, didn't exactly look threatening, as a matter of fact she looked nearly dead. Then again, a bright red mark stood out, painfully obvious on her shoulder, a direct copy of the one on Bianca's arm.

He looked up at Bianca, fighting the immediate urge to heal first and ask questions later, "What happened? Who's she?"

Bianca shook her head sharply "She's just a _kid _Halliwell and she's hurt. Either let me out or heal her!"

The girl shifted on the floor, mumbling inanely before she curled around herself more. Bianca's gaze shot from the girl to Wyatt. If he didn't know better, he could have swore there was an edge of something in her expression, almost a plea.

Wyatt didn't move.

The caged Phoenix seemed to darken, eyes narrowing to slits. In a burst of motion, Bianca's hands shot out and clamped impossibly around one of the warding stones. Lightning arced around her ferociously but anyone could see that it was lessening, the bright magical light of the stone disappearing into her hands until finally there was none left.

Wyatt saw her shimmering the second before she did and shoved Melinda back out into the hallway just in time for Bianca to shimmer back beside him, athame a hairs breadth away from his throat. The room fell still, the only thing moving were the dust motes.

"Heal her." Bianca commanded.

With a flick of the wrist that closed the attic door, sealing Mel on the other side, Wyatt snorted.

"You could have asked nicely."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**1:15**

"Oh dear, oh dear..." Mrs. Donovan fluttered back and forth, hands fretting at her cheeks. The library was absolutely choked with dust, loose pages still drifting down from the upper levels. This was the first time in a very long time she could remember being able to see from one end of the library to another, and it wasn't due to any sort of creative decorating, it was because a book shaped hole had been punched through every shelf from the entrance to the demonic flora section.

The librarian squeaked pitifully.

Chris and Leo turned in near unison to pin Phoebe with identical looks of blame. The Charmed One shrank, hands pinned over her mouth.

"Ohmygosh. I am so, so, _so_ sorry!" Phoebe winced widely, not sure how to console the distraught librarian. The woman in question just nodded, slowly, still staring through the hole in the shelf in front of her. Leo patted her on the shoulder wordlessly.

Chris scratched his cheek lightly and leaned to look through the neat line of holes, "Well, I guess it won't be that hard to figure out where the book came from."

Phoebe perked up, "You mean _your_ book."

Chris's return glare wasn't fast enough. Mrs. Donovan had already picked up on Phoebe's words.

"Why Christopher, I wasn't aware you wrote a book!" She looked from him back to the carnage, a small finger pointing from it to him, "Your book did this?"

"I didn't write it!!" Chris almost yelled, tired of saying it. "I would have remembered that!"

Leo sighed in his direction, and pushed the book into Mrs. Donovan's hands, "Have you seen this before?"

She stared at it, frowning at the pages, as she flipped through, changing the binding and covers for any other identifying marks, "I'm afraid not. I would have remembered a text of this caliber. This book is near genius, good job Chris!"

"Not my book," Chris sing-songed temperamentally.

The click of heels made the small group turn around just in time to see Piper Halliwell enter the scene, hands hovering dangerously close to her blowing up position.

"Okay, so all the kids are safely in the—WOAH! What happened here?"

Phoebe bounded over to her sister and hooked a stalling arm around her shoulders, "Chris wrote a book."

Piper snapped over to look at him, "You wrote a book?"

"No I didn't." Chris dropped his hands to his sides audibly and stared beseechingly up at the ceiling, "How many times am I going to have to say that..."

"It's really quite complicated." Mrs. Donovan ignored him, offering the book to a confused Piper. She took it gingerly, fingers pulling at it like it would eventually explode. With each page flip, though, her mouth dropped open wider.

"Holey moley," Piper commented, eyes wide, "You aren't kidding. What the heck does polychronatic supplefication mean anyway?"

Phoebe peeked over Piper's shoulder and whistled, "Dude, I don't even know how to pronounce that word."

Soon, all four of them were hovering over the thing, attempting to figure out what any of it meant and how many points the words would count for in scrabble. Outwardly, Chris maintained a look of complete and utter deadpan annoyance, arms securely crossed. Inwardly... he wasn't quite as disintrested. The four of them tossed out words, bits of equations, and various names, each one catching his attention more than the last.

He hadn't written it. He would have remembered... but it didn't change the fact that most of the things they were saying were actually making sense.

There'd always been an idea in the back of his head that science and magic could go hand in hand, and the more he listened, the more it seemed right. The way the modern day theories of quantum mechanics seamlessly intertwined with magical theories on portals... well, it just made so much sense.

Reluctantly, Chris stepped back over to where his family was clustered around the book.

"Can I see that for a second?" He winced as Phoebe cracked a smile at him.

"Sure! It's your book." She twisted the tome and held it out.

"It is n-- You know what, _whatever._" Chris grabbed the thing and fanned through the pages, catching chapter titles, each one more interesting than the last. It took almost all of his self control to wrench his attention from it, instead he turned to the trial of holes leading back to the corner of the library. He recognized that corner of the library. It was where he always sat... where he _had _been sitting this morning and where he'd seen that crazy guy the first time. Instantly, something snapped into place.

He'd been trying to put away this book.

Chris eyed the broken spine of the book and tilted the book to its side, letting the book open to the most used chapter. The chapter title was in bold: "Paradox Windows. Affecting imbalances in time and guiding magical selection of specific time lines." Chris suddenly felt sick to his stomach as he read further.

"...We're screwed."

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A/N: Apologies for this being a few days late. I had an opportunity to get an interview at Sony and I had to get my flat art portfolio into shape in time... and well, when Sony asks for something, you just gotta drop everything and get to it. At any rate! Here's the chapter. Thank you all for reading and please, please review, it's been a hell of a week and I honestly could use a few review shaped hugs.


	7. ANNOYING AUTHOR'S NOTE

Author's note of EPIC PROPORTIONS!

Okay, not so epic. Here's the dilly-yo. A million apologies for the y'know, no posty thing. Work got fantastically busy and I got hired for some jobs so... yeah. Good deal. Bad for the fic, good for me. I will be continuing this fic, but I'll be doing it at another account. I'm also going to be slightly editing some of these chapters, nothing plot altering, just flow issues. I've gotten better at writing in the last year and it was kind of painful for me to look at some part so. Yes. Over the next week I'll be putting up a chapter every other day and as soon as the six old chapters are up and edited, we'll have a new one out and it's a doozy.

So yes, thank you to anyone who is still paying attention to little old me. I shall see you on the new account.

Look for me at Pessimystic here on ffdonet.


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